


Blinded

by Lozzy4992



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Slow Build, mystrade, soulmate!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lozzy4992/pseuds/Lozzy4992
Summary: In a world where everyone discovers their soulmate through seeing a blinding white light after skin-on-skin contact, Greg Lestrade is trying to get on with his life. He's getting older, his ex-partner found her soulmate and, frankly, he's just trying to get from one day to the next. But then his soulmate turns out to be the very unlikely Mycroft Holmes who doesn't want to get involved with him. So what is he going to do? He's going to win him over, of course.Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, they belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the interpretations belong to Mofftiss. The only thing I own is the world in which it is set and the plot.





	1. You Light Me Up

** Light Me Up **

“ _I was a broke down heartbreak, badly in need,  
Of a little of love’s electricity,  
__A busted carnival ride,  
In the middle of the night,  
Then you flipped the switch,  
You turned on the show,  
__You light me up._ ” – Hunter Hayes 

* * *

 

The sun had long since set over London, and Greg and Mycroft were seated in New Scotland Yard poring over a case-file the covert government official had presented that morning.  It regarded the murders of two off-duty MI5 agents. Whoever the killer was left no trace in their wake, and an in-depth autopsy was their only hope to point them in the right direction. While waiting for the report from Bart’s Specialist Registrar, Mycroft thought it best to check over what had been gathered from the crime scenes.

Greg’s shirt sleeves were rolled up—a habit of his when he was thinking hard—and his silver hair was sticking up at odd angles after running his hands through it. Despite the stress of the situation, the auburn-haired Mycroft looked as impeccable as ever. He still wore his three-piece suit and bright white gloves and not a sliver of skin exposed apart from his head and neck.

“Mycroft, we’re not gettin’ anywhere lookin’ over these notes. Why don’t we just wait until Molly gets back to us with the autopsy results?”

“There is something important in this file, Detective Inspector, and we’re simply not looking hard enough,” the other man quipped. Mycroft meticulously picked up a photo taken at the crime scene from the stack. He looked over the picture, analysing every element that could be seen. Greg sighed and picked up one for himself, leaning back in his seat as his eyes scanned the image in hopes of finding something out of the ordinary.

He soon set down the image and moved to pick up a second. “Couldn’t Sherlock help with this? Surely he would be able to—”

“Brother mine is not the best choice for cases about such sensitive issues,” Mycroft cut him off abruptly. “Also, he doesn’t work as well with the staff of MI5 as he does with your team.”

“That’s sayin’ somethin’. . .” He trailed off, leaning back in his chair again to look through the pictures.

After glancing at the third image and finding nothing, the silver-haired man lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are you seriously tellin’ me there are no rogue agents that could have done this?”

“All available agents are being questioned and all of their stories have checked out so far,” Mycroft replied coolly, his eyes fixed on the photo in his hand.

Greg shook his head, running a hand through his hair once more. “It’s useless, Mycroft. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doin’.”

“I would rather ensure that nothing was missed,” the auburn-haired man said in a clipped tone.

As he set yet another photo down, Greg’s phone rang. The sound pierced the frustrated silence that had befallen the room, and as he darted for the device he knocked a long forgotten cup of coffee over in his haste. The contents spilled freely over the desk in reckless abandon.

“Shit!” Greg ignored his phone in favour of quickly scooping up the file and pictures. He then turned to the government official in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Just some stained gloves,” Mycroft said casually with a wave of his hand. “Luckily I never leave home without a spare pair.”

He quickly grabbed tissues from the box on the desk to mop up the spilled beverage before disposing of them, then headed to his briefcase to find more gloves. The case popped open with two clicks and he carefully stripped the wet gloves off before rummaging through the pockets.

“Where on Earth. . .”

“Here, let me help.” Greg immediately stood and joined the other man by looking under various files and digging through the pockets. The two searched the case for a few moments, and the only noise to fill the otherwise silent office was the rustling of papers.

“Got them.” Mycroft moved to extract the clean pair from the depths of a pocket as the D.I. moved his hands away from a selection of neatly organised files.

The pair barely felt the red head’s hand brush against Greg’s bare arm, but both inhaled sharply as a white light blinded them both for a few moments.

When his vision returned, Greg looked up at Mycroft and stared at him in shock. The two men remained quiet, ignoring the phone ringing on the desk until the D.I. found his voice. “You’re my soulmate?”

“It appears I am,” Mycroft answered quietly, bright blue eyes still fixed on the soulful brown ones.

“Fuck.” Greg moved to sit on the floor, breaking his gaze as he tried to take in the information. His eyes snapped back up at Mycroft as the man moved to stand. “So, where do we go from here?”

Greg’s phone rang again.

“Aren’t you going to take that?” Mycroft asked simply.

“Oh, yeah.”

Greg quickly stood up and strode to the desk to grab his phone.  “Hey Molly,” he said as he turned away from Mycroft. “Sorry, we were busy. I knocked over some coffee and we needed to clean up, but never mind that. . . Right, OK, thanks for lettin’ us know. See ya, bye.”

The call ended and he turned back toward the government official. “Autopsy and toxicology report showed nothin’.”

“I assumed as much,” Mycroft sighed.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which question?”

“Don’t play dumb, Mycroft. You know what I mean. We’re soulmates! So. . . Where do we go from here?”

“Nowhere,” the other man answered simply, turning to collect the pictures and case file. “Caring is a disadvantage, and this whole ‘soulmate’ business is absolute nonsense.”

“What? How’s it nonsense? You saw the light, isn’t that proof enough?”

Mycroft ignored the question. Instead, he neatly collected his suitcase and made his way toward the door. “Thank you for your assistance, Detective Inspector, but your help is no longer needed. Good evening.”

“What? Mycroft—” 

The door clicked shut before Greg could utter another word, leaving him alone in the office.

* * *

 **AN:** Many thanks to my beta ljgryphon!


	2. What Do You Say

** What Do You Say **

 

“ _What do you say,_  
_When you just know,_  
_That he’s the one,_  
_And you wanna go fast,_  
_But he’s taking it slow,_ ” – Taylor Swift

* * *

By the time Monday had rolled around Greg was struggling to even leave his bed. In the harsh moments after Mycroft had left the office, the D.I. returned to his flat after letting his boss know he was taking the rest of the week off for personal reasons. He spent the time wallowing in self-pity over the rejection from his soulmate and barely left his flat. Every meal was ordering in take-away and drinking every drop of alcohol in the house, and when that ran out he grudgingly left to buy more alcohol, cigarettes and junk food. 

After his alarm went off for the fourth time that morning he finally fumbled for the off button before collapsing back into the mattress. Greg lay there for a few moments before accepting his fate and rolling out of bed. He dragged himself to the bathroom for a quick shower and shave. Once dry, he pulled on whatever work clothes he stumbled upon before fixing on his gloves, grabbing his coat, and leaving the flat.

He arrived late at New Scotland Yard but couldn’t bring himself to care as he made his way into the building and up to his office. He entered the room before allowing his bag to fall from his shoulder to the floor and slumping lifelessly into his chair. Half-lidded chocolate eyes wandered over the cluttered desk, noting the stack of paperwork that had accumulated to the right of his computer monitor over the days he had been hiding in his flat. With a sigh, he leaned forward to snatch up the first document—so many pages stapled together—before leaning back in his chair to read it.

Despite his attempt to concentrate, he had barely got past the first page when there was a light knock at his door. “Yeah?” he called distractedly, his eyes still on the page.

Sally opened the door, but whatever she was going to say died on her lips as she looked over her superior. “Are you alright, sir? No offence, but you look like crap.”

“I’m fine, just. . .” He paused and gave a long sigh. “Actually, not fine.” Greg finally looked up at the Sergeant, “crappier than I look probably.”

“D’ya want to talk about it?” she asked gently, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her.

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair as his eyes flickered down a moment. “I found my soulmate.” Sally gasped in surprise, a grin beginning to form. “He rejected me.”

The grin fell instantly. “Why?”

“He said ‘caring is a disadvantage’ and that the whole soulmate thing is nonsense.” He shrugged and looked at her sadly.

“That’s bollocks, everyone’s been finding their soulmates for thousands of years!”

He threw his hands up in defeat. “It’s his opinion, I have to respect it.”

“Yeah, and his opinion’s wrong. He’s spieling you bollocks for whatever reason.”

“Ya think?”

“Yeah! And you should find out why.”

He straightened up, determination setting hard in his face. “You know what? I think I will.” He tossed the papers back onto the desk and stood, tugging on his coat and grabbing the previously discarded bag.

“I’ll cover ya, boss,” she smiled.

“You’re the best.” He pulled her into a hug and before she could react, he had pulled back and began to make his way down the corridor.

Greg knew where his soulmate would be, he had visited the auburn-haired man at the Diogenes Club before when his expertise had been needed in the past. It didn’t take him long to get there with most people still at work in the mid-morning. The travel time was reasonable but he was still incredibly jittery. He wanted—no, _needed_ —to be there right now. After he parked nearby and walked the remaining short distance to the old-fashioned building, he was soon shown into the Stranger’s Room. It was the place Mycroft often frequented, and Greg found him seated in a fat, leather armchair looking over some papers. Top secret, judging by the folders surrounding him.

Upon hearing the door open Mycroft looked up, his bright eyes widening momentarily before his usual blank expression returned. “Detective Inspector, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Why did you reject me? And don’t give me the same crap you gave me last week, it’s bollocks and you know it. Soulmates have been happening for millennia and you _expect_ _me_ to believe you think it is nonsense? We both saw the light, Mycroft, you’ve seen the proof!”

Mycroft regarded the silver-haired man quietly. “Lestrade, I have already told you how I feel about caring. Just because I _have_ a soulmate doesn’t necessarily mean I _need_ one. I am perfectly content with my solitude.”

He was silent for a few beats, holding the other man’s gaze before speaking. “I’m not saying you should need me. The point of a soulmate is that there is someone who complements you.”

Greg paused, thinking again for a moment. “Give me six months. Six months to show you why we should be together, and if you still feel the same as you do now then I’ll leave you alone. Hell, I’ll even actively avoid you if that’s what you want.” His voice softened, breaking ever so slightly on the last word, “Just give me a chance Mycroft, please.”

There was a long, pregnant pause as Mycroft appeared to consider his options and Greg felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest while waiting. Finally, the silence was broken. “Alright, it sounds like a reasonable deal.”

“What?”

“Pardon,” a smug smirk tugged at Mycroft’s lips. “Considering the alternatives, this is the best option to take. If I say no you will continue to harass me then if I take legal action brother mine will lose his main contact for cases, which will mean _he_ will begin to harass me and lead him down a path he’s been off for a while now.”

Greg couldn’t help the face splitting grin. “You won’t regret this Mycroft. I’ll win you over if it’s the last thing I do!” He was still a moment before he suddenly and swiftly left the room, returning to work with a much brighter outlook than earlier. 

* * *

 

 **AN:** Once again, many thanks to my wonderful beta ljgryphon!


	3. Cruise

**AN:** Apologies for the delay between chapters, things have been a bit hectic on this end but here it is! I hope you enjoy!

**Cruise**

" _Baby you a song,  
__You make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise,_ " – Florida Georgia Line

* * *

Greg was in the middle of a meeting when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Since his boss was on his back about missing most of the previous week at work and skipping a couple of hours the day before, he decided to ignore it until he could safely read it away from his superior; the last thing he needed was a bollucking. A minute after the vibrating stopped his phone buzzed again, this time indicating a newly received text message.

Probably Sherlock; it had been over a week since his last case and he was probably climbing the walls.

When the meeting was called to a close, Greg headed back to his office and once he was behind the privacy of his desk he took the chance to check his phone. The missed call was from a withheld number and the text from one which did not have in his contacts.

**From: Unknown**  
'As much as I dislike texting, it appears the best way in which to reach you when you are at work. I want to discuss the pre-requisites to our arrangement.  
MH'

A stupid grin split over his face as he saved the number before replying:

**To: Mycroft  
** 'Yeah, I can't really be taking personal calls in work hours, especially with the boss breathing down my neck. I can sneak texts though ;) so what are these pre-requisites you speak/text of?'

He picked up some paperwork that had landed on his desk that morning and resumed where he had left off prior to the meeting, his feet on the desk as he happily scrawled his initials and signature where necessary and added any missing notes in the margins. He managed to sign off the first piece and had done most of the second when his phone buzzed. He moved to sit as he picked his phone up before kicking his feet back up and reading.

**From: Mycroft**  
'Gloves must be worn at all times, public displays of affection are prohibited and it must appear that we have a professional relationship to anyone who may see us.  
An emoticon? How old are you?  
MH'

He chuckled and typed out his reply.

**To: Mycroft**

'Fine by me :)  
If that's the case, I would like to request that wherever I take you, you give it a chance before writing it off and you be yourself. I want to get to know Mycroft, not the British Government. Is that alright?  
You know how old I am; I'm sure you have access to my file :P  
Are you free tomorrow night?'

He left his phone in his lap as he continued with his paperwork, his pen flying over the page every-so-often. It wasn't long before his phone buzzed again and after finishing the page he picked it up.

**From: Mycroft**  
'I am glad that was easy to negotiate.  
Your request is a decent proposal. I cannot make any promises but I shall try.  
Of course I know how old you are; I was referring to the fact your use of emoticons is similar to that of a teenager.  
I have no plans. I assume you wish to start your attempts to "woo" me?  
MH'

Greg smirked as he texted back.

**To: Mycroft**  
'If what you've asked makes you feel more comfortable then I can only respect that :) as long as you're happy, we'll be fine.  
Teenagers aren't the only ones who use emoticons you know! :P  
Yeah, that's the plan. I'll pick you up at 7? But in order to do that I'll need your address.'

He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

**From: Mycroft**  
'I'll have a car bring me to your apartment for then.  
Until then Lestrade.  
MH'

He chuckled softly and tapped out a response.

**To: Mycroft  
** 'Until then Mycroft :)'


	4. Wanna Be That Song

**Wanna Be That Song**  

“ _I wanna be that song that gets you high,  
_ _Makes you dance, makes you fall,  
_ _That melody rewinds years,  
_ _Once disappear, makes time stall,  
_ _Wanna be those words that fill you up,  
_ _Pull your windows down and keeps you young,  
_ _Makes you believe you’re right where you belong,  
_ _I wanna be that song,_ ” – Brett Eldredge

* * *

 

The next evening found Greg flitting around his flat, busying himself with tidying up his apartment as the clock ticked steadily to seven. He had bolted from the office as soon as he could to get himself showered and ready for his date, making himself a quick sandwich to tide him over until he returned home later on. He had texted his soulmate earlier in the day to let him know dinner was not part of their plan that evening and had received no reply, but assumed it had been read. He knew Mycroft was not usually the texting type.

He was organising his DVD collection when the intercom suddenly startled him. He exhaled deeply as he made his way to the phone before lifting it from its handle.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Lestrade. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, um, I’ll be down in a minute. I’ll buzz you in so you can wait in the lobby. Yeah, bye.” He quickly put the phone down and pressed the button to let the other man in before feeling in his pockets to check he had everything. Once certain he had his wallet and keys, he quickly checked over himself in the mirror for anything out of place. After another deep breath, he finally left the flat.

He arrived in the lobby in record time, his eyes landing immediately on Mycroft and he couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath at the sight. He had always appreciated Mycroft as a good-looking man but had never acted on those thoughts. After all, he was Sherlock’s _brother_. Yet as he looked at the man in front of him, who stood in a suit that fitted his body shape perfectly, it felt like he was seeing him for the first time. His auburn hair was perfectly coiffed and he leaned on his umbrella, a small smile on his face.

“Hi,” Greg said breathlessly, “you look amazin’.” He mentally kicked himself instantly. _Way to go coming off across as smooth_ , he thought bitterly

Mycroft cleared his throat, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah, sure.” Greg pulled his keys from his pocket before leading Mycroft to his car, unlocking the doors as he approached. He jogged to the passenger seat to open and waved the other man in with a delicate sweep of his hand.

“Really, Gregory?” Mycroft said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“I’m a gentleman, sue me.” He winked as the redhead ducked into the car. Greg shut the door behind him before lightly running around and getting in the driver’s side. He quickly started the engine and drove off.

A few moments into the ride Mycroft broke the silence. “I didn’t know you were a fan of country music.”

“Do you want me to turn it off?” He had forgotten he had left his CD on from his drive home earlier.

“No, it’s fine. This is a good song.”

“It’s called ‘Wanna Be That Song’ by Brett Eldredge, it’s off his new album. I went and saw him last month in Koko, he was really good. The openin’ act was really good too.”

“Ah,” Mycroft hummed.

“What kind of music do you like?”

“I enjoy classical, especially piano pieces. Some rock is not the worst thing I have heard, such as Queen, Bon Jovi, Prince, The Eagles—”

“You like the Eagles? The album from the ‘Hell Freezes Over’ tour is my favourite!”

“It is a very good album.”

“I have it in the glove box of you want to put it on.”

“That’s alright, I am happy with this.”

“OK.” The two settled into a comfortable silence, Greg driving to their destination and Mycroft looking out of the window. The music played peacefully in the background.

As they pulled into the car park Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “Really, Gregory? Crazy golf?”

“What? Everyone does dinner or drinks so that’s a bit obvious, and I like to think outside the box. Also, you can call me Greg you know. We’re soulmates after all.” He grinned cheekily and winked before getting out. He walked around to meet Mycroft—who had already exited the car—before locking it and leading the redhead to the entrance. He paid for them both before receiving the clubs, balls, score sheet, and pen before holding out the clubs.

“Blue or red?” Greg asked as he held up the clubs and Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look; you said you’d try.”

“I remember what I said.” Mycroft reached out and took the red club before looking around. “There’s the first hole, shall we go?”

“Lead the way.” Greg gestured towards the first hole with a grin. The two headed over to the straight course lined with a white picket fence and wooden flowers. Once there, Greg sent the man another charming grin. “You first.” 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, stepping up the green and placing his ball on the spot. He straightened up and got into position, looking between the ball and the end goal, and with one reasonably powered tap the ball slid effortlessly down the course and into the hole.

The older man whistled as he wrote on the score card. “Nice! Someone has clearly done this before.”

“Naturally,” Mycroft replied simply, reaching into the hole and retrieving the ball. The position gave Greg an even better view of his arse in the perfectly tailored suit. The redhead straightened up and walked back to stand next to the DI as he set his ball down before handing over the score sheet and pen. He attempted to mimic the power he had seen Mycroft use before hitting the ball and watching it glide over the green, slowing to a stop just inches from the hole.

“Damn it! It was so close,” he cursed with a grin, walking up the course before tapping the ball into the hole.

“You got there in the end,” Mycroft said with a smirk, writing down the DI’s score as he walked back over.

“Next one?”

“Lead the way.”

They made their way through the first few holes, passing comments as they went. Amusingly to Greg, the redhead was doing exceptionally well.

“How are you managing a hole-in-one practically every time?” Greg asked as they approached the fifth course. It had been made to look like a countryside walk with a bridge over a tiny stream leading directly to the hole.

“It is simple mathematics and physics. Take this one, for example.” He set the ball down and looked over the course, his voice deepening in a manner Greg was all too familiar with after the years of help from the younger Holmes brother. “There are four feet and three inches between here and the bridge, then the bridge has an approximate gradient of one-hundred-and-thirty-five degrees, then another four feet on the other side. To get a hole-in-one, the ball needs to be propelled with enough force for it to reach just past the top of the bridge as momentum will take over to send it down the other side and into the hole.”

Mycroft lined up to take the shot. “Taking into account the distance from here to just over the peak of the bridge and the gradient for the last five inches of its journey, all I need to do. . .” he looked back at the bridge before down to the ball and swinging the club back, “is this.”

He hit the ball, and the pair of men watched as it rolled down the trail and over the bridge before smoothly landing in the hole only seconds later. “And I have another hole-in-one.” He turned back to Greg with a smug smile to find the other man watching slack-jawed.

“Holy shit,” he said, clearly impressed as Mycroft made his way to the end of the course to retrieve his ball. “ _That_ was amazin’.”

“I thought you would be used to this with the number of times you have approached brother mine in need of help.” He quickly scooped up the ball and began to make his way back.

“Yeah, but what you did is different. Sherlock picks up tiny details on a body or a crime scene which we could’ve found and concluded with more observance and knowledge, or more thinking time. What you did was way more impressive. You just calculated the angle of a bridge from five feet away in seconds, and _then_ figured out how much power the ball had to be hit with to reach the optimum point on the bridge to carry it to the hole.”

When the redhead returned to stand beside Greg, he plucked the score sheet and pen from his hands and noted his most recent score. “Aren’t you going to putt?”

Greg blinked. “Yeah, sorry. . .” He set down his ball and positioned himself, making his calculations based on what he had been told only a minute ago. He took his shot and was impressed to see his ball follow the same path as Mycroft’s, settling into the hole moments later.

“Very well done, you’re learning.” The taller man sent him a smirk as he noted down the score.

The pair made their way around the next few holes, Greg making conversation to learn more about his soulmate when they weren’t concentrating on the game. He had managed to improve his game somewhat, however Mycroft maintained a strong lead. The man was only taking two shots to put the ball when sending it through the optional loop. They reached the final hole, a straight course with a windmill blocking their path, and Mycroft stepped up to place his ball down before watching the windmill turn for a few seconds. Once satisfied, he swung the club back and with a strong hit the ball sailed down the course, swiftly gliding through the opening in the windmill before appearing the other side and falling into the hole with a small rattle.

“Ten points, that has to be the best this place has seen,” Greg said, marking the score as the auburn-haired man went to retrieve his ball for the last time.

“Probably.” Mycroft returned next to the DI and stepped aside. “Your turn.”

Greg stepped up and placed his ball down before straightening up, he swung his club back gently, his eyes on the windmill ahead. When the blade just covered the hole, he putted. The ball rolled down the green and through the hole, and in moments they heard the now-familiar rattle of the ball falling into the hole.

“Well done. Eighteen points.”

“I can live with that,” Greg shrugged with a grin. “Shall we go?”

“Yes, I’ll call my driver.”

“I can take you back.”

“Maybe another time.” Mycroft sent him a small smile before pressing a button on his phone and holding it to his ear as they walked, leaving the DI to walk silently behind him. After handing back the equipment the pair headed to the car park to wait for Mycroft’s driver to arrive.

Greg huffed a laugh, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I feel like a teenager again. The date is over and we’re waitin’ to get picked up.”

“Except you can drive.”

“And you just won’t let me drop you at home.”

His tone hardened, “Gregory—”

“That wasn’t a dig, I was just adding to the analogy!” He held his arms up quickly in surrender. “I said it’s OK to go by your rules Mycroft, and I meant it. I want you to feel comfortable around me.”

Mycroft was silent for a moment, his head bowed. “Thank you.” He raised his head and sent Greg another small smile. They stood in a silence, and before Greg could restart the conversation a black car slowed in front of them.

Once it had stopped, the DI quickly opened the passenger seat. “Did you enjoy tonight?”

“I did, thank you, Gregory.”

“Good. I’ll let you know the next meeting soon.”

“I am sure you will.” Mycroft stepped into the car. “Until then, Lestrade.” 

“Until then, Mycroft.” He sent the auburn-haired man a last grin before closing the door and watching the car drive away before heading to his own and making his way home. 

* * *

**AN:** Many thanks to my wonderful, amazing beta ljgryphon!

 

 


	5. Storm Warning

** Storm Warning **

“ _I’m gonna wish I had a storm warnin’,_  
_I’m gonna wish I had a sign,_  
_I’m gonna wish I had a little heads up,_  
_A little leeway, a little more time,_  
_Some kind of radar system locked in on love,_  
_I got a feelin’ by the time the night finds the mornin’,  
__I’m gonna wish I had a storm warnin’,_ ” – Hunter Hayes 

* * *

 

It was a slow day at New Scotland Yard with no new cases and all the paperwork done—in record time, due to Greg’s renewed lease on life—and the Detective Inspector decided to go through his e-mails. He was deleting any old, unimportant ones he came across when his phone buzzed, indicating a text. He slid his thumb over the screen to unlock it before opening the message: 

 **From: Mycroft**  
‘Is there any reason why I have received a large bouquet of flowers?  
MH’

He smiled and shook his head before tapping out a reply. 

 **To: Mycroft**  
‘Can I not send my soulmate flowers not only as a romantic gesture but as a means of thanks for such a wonderful evening last night and brightening up such a day as this? :P  
It’s dead here today, I’ve got nothing to do.’

He went back to going through his emails, emptying his inbox of messages about old cases and archiving a few that he wanted to keep hold of just in case. When he was reaching the end, his phone buzzed again. Abandoning his emails, he unlocked his phone and read the message. 

 **From: Mycroft**  
‘As beautiful as they are, my assistant keeps giving me knowing looks and smirks.  
Are there not any cold cases you can work on?  
MH’

He laughed to himself as he replied. 

 **To: Mycroft**  
‘I didn’t put a card in, they could be from anyone ;)  
Sherlock has rinsed through most of them, I rather keep the others for when he gets really antsy.  
I spy with my little eye, something beginning with... S’ 

Once sent, he continued to finish cleaning up his inbox until there were no more emails to read through and left his office to have a look through old case files. Maybe he could read over one in hopes of spotting something he had missed at the time.

He soon returned with one from back when he was just getting to know Sherlock before the man became his go-to for cases that would otherwise become cold. Greg also checked his phone to find a new message waiting, opening it without hesitation. 

 **From: Mycroft**  
‘Nonetheless, my assistant is not stupid. She knows they have been sent by someone who is interested in me. A card usually explains why I have received a gift.  
I am afraid I cannot alleviate your boredom. Can’t you leave if there is nothing to do?  
I am not playing ‘I Spy’ over text message.  
MH' 

 **To: Mycroft**  
‘So... A coded card next time? :P  
I need to stay in case something comes in :( I’ve got a cold case in the off-chance I pick up on something. At worst, it looks like I’m not skiving.  
I’ll give you a clue, it’s on my desk :P  
By the way, when are you next free? I was thinking you come over and I make you dinner?’

He sent the text and went to make himself a coffee, killing a little bit of time before he had to try and scan over a case file which would probably show nothing new to him. With a steaming cup in hand and one of the muffins Jameson had kindly brought in he returned to his office. He sat in his chair, collected the files and kicked his legs up, crossing them at the ankle on his desk as he flicked open the document. It was the usual position he assumed whenever things got a little dull in the day. His eyes focussed on the report he had written when the case was first opened, reminding himself of parts of the case he had forgotten about. Greg had to hand it to himself; the document was thorough in its explanation which made it a lot easier for him to recollect what had happened.

He had just finished reading over the report when his phone vibrated and he leaned over to pick it up. 

 **From: Mycroft**    
‘She would still know. She knows all my professional engagements.  
I hope you can shed some light on the cold case.  
I am not playing I Spy, Gregory.  
Saturday is my next free night if that works with you?  
MH’ 

 **To: Mycroft**    
‘Well she’ll just have to keep guessing who the mystery flower sender is, won’t she? :P  
Nothing yet, hopefully the pictures of the crime scene will help.  
Boring :( :P it was a stapler, jsyk.  
Saturday’s great :D what time do you wanna eat? Any allergies I need to know?’

Once sent he picked up the pictures taken at the crime scene, his eyes meticulously went over every inch of the image in a bid to find something that could point them to the killer. Suddenly his eyes caught on something he had noticed before, but not with the memory that flashed in his mind to accompany it. He hastened to his feet, clutching the image tightly as he left his office whilst shouting down the hall, “Donovan! Remember that Hagherty case?”

Later, he returned to his office grinning with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. Donovan had gone to the address of one of the victim’s colleagues to see if she had the ring on a chain she had been wearing during the investigation. If she did, they were one step closer to solving the six-year-old case. 

Feeling rather proud of himself, he sat down again and picked his phone up, his grin widening upon seeing a new message was waiting for him. 

 **From: Mycroft**    
‘She will until she figures it out.  
Which case are you looking at?  
I usually eat late, at around half eight if that is alright with you? I have no dietary requirements you need to take into consideration.  
MH’

Greg beamed as he replied. 

 **To: Mycroft**  
‘Hagherty, the man found dead in his house. No prints or signs of forced entry, but I think I’ve found something :D  
OK, so be at mine for 8?’

Given there was nothing to do until the Sergeant returned, Greg decided to catch up on world news. He opened the web browser, made his way to the Guardian page, and looked over the articles for any that took his fancy. Little time passed before the DI’s phone vibrated with another. 

 **From: Mycroft**    
‘I am unaware of that case, it must be old. I hope your lead comes up with what you are hoping for.  
I will have my car bring me to your apartment for 8PM on Saturday.  
Until then, Gregory.  
MH’

His heart did a funny leap as he read the message. _Mycroft hopes my discovery leads to solving the case_ , he thought happily. His cheeks were beginning to ache from grinning so much as he tapped out his reply.

 **To: Mycroft  
** ‘Until then, Mycroft :)’ 

* * *

**AN:** Many thanks once again to my amazing beta ljgryphon!!

 


	6. Just A Kiss

** Just A Kiss **

“ _I know that if we give this a little time,  
_ _It’ll only bring us closer to the love we wanna find,  
_ _It’s never felt so real, no it’s never felt so right,_ ” – Lady Antebellum

* * *

The week had dragged a lot more than Greg would have liked it too, but Saturday had finally arrived. Their previous date was about getting Mycroft used to spending time around him outside of their usual circumstances that was unrelated to a case or Sherlock, but this time it was about getting to know one another on a deeper level. Deeper than Greg ever thought he would get to know the elder Holmes. Yet that was before he found out that Mycroft Holmes was his soulmate.

He inhaled deeply as he did the buttons up on his navy shirt and looked over to the alarm clock on his nightstand. It read 19:51. Nine minutes until Mycroft arrived. With that in mind, he quickly pulled on his gloves, spritzed himself with cologne, and exited the bedroom. He closed the door behind him before heading to the living area where his iPhone was sitting in the docking station. With a couple of quick swipes on the screen, Eric Church’s ‘Give Me Back My Hometown’ was floating around the room drowning out the silence in the flat. He flitted around, checking on the beef bourguignon before making sure everywhere was tidy and presentable. He was brought out of his anxiety-induced fussing by the loud buzz of the intercom. He strode to the hallway confidently, took a deep breath, and answered.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Gregory.” The familiar voice brought butterflies to his stomach. 

“Hey Mycroft, come on up.”

“Alright, I shall see you in a minute.”

He put the phone down and pressed the button to let the auburn-haired man in before darting to the mirror, giving himself a quick once over. Satisfied with the reflection, he then headed to the door to open it and leaning against the frame. His arms were crossed over his chest and his feet were wrapped at the knee as he waited for Mycroft to appear.

It didn’t take long for the government official to arrive. His light grey three-piece suit fitted him as perfectly as ever, and his sky-blue tie brought out his gorgeous eyes. Greg inhaled sharply, deep brown gaze drinking in the sight.

“Hey,” Greg greeted with a shy smile, the earlier confidence all but disappearing.

“Good evening, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, sending the silver-haired man a small grin as he approached.

“You look… nice.” Greg glanced down a moment before meeting his soulmate’s piercing eyes again.

“Thank you, as do you.”

They stood in silence for a beat before the DI spoke again, “Come in! The wine should have breathed enough by now.” He stepped aside and the redhead passed him.

“A red, I assume?” Mycroft asked, his eyes scanning the hallway briefly before heading into the living area.

“Of course. It’s a 2010 Merlot, and it’ll go with the dishes.”

“You have really planned this all out, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have!” Greg grinned before he disappeared into the kitchen to take the goat cheese toasts out of the fridge, then turned the grill on and put the roasted onion soup on low heat. He delicately collected the two full glasses from the side counter before making his way back to the living area, handing one to Mycroft and carefully taking a seat next to him. He held his glass up in the air. “Cheers, to an enjoyable evening.”

“To an enjoyable evening.” Mycroft clinked his glass lightly with Greg’s before taking a sip, the DI mimicked the action.

After lifting the glass from his lips, Greg leaned back in his seat. “So, how’s your day been?”

Mycroft swirled the wine silently for a moment. “Pleasant, I managed to do a workout undisturbed this morning before I did some shopping. Oh, and I managed to finish my book. I was only called three times, which is a wonder.” He took another sip of his wine. “And you?”

“Yeah, it’s been good. Got a shop in, prepped dinner, had a tidy. What were you reading?”

“It was a re-read of Marlowe’s ‘Doctor Faustus’. It’s a play, but I own a copy of the script. Do you know it?”

“Yeah, it’s brilliant. Have you seen it?”

“Yes, I saw it at the Globe Theatre back in 2011.”

“I saw that one too. I’d love to see it again.”

“I would also, hence why I re-read the text.” Mycroft smiled again before taking another sip of wine and Greg’s stomach swooped.

“I don’t blame you.” Greg grinned back, continuing to indulge in the wine. “So you said you work out?”

“I like to stay in shape.”

“Fair enough. I haven’t worked out in ages, I need to get back to the gym.”

“I thought you would get enough exercise with your line of work?”

“Not as much as I used to, Sherlock usually figures it out before it gets to that point.”

“Speaking of work, did you solve the Hagherty case yet?”

“Yeah, I did!” Greg beamed. “It was one of his colleagues. They were having an affair and when he wanted to end it, she pushed him over. He hit his head on the landing.”

Mycroft leaned back, arching an eyebrow as he swirled the crimson liquid. “Where did she slip up?”

“She took his wedding ring. I remember seeing it on a chain around her neck and it was similar to his wife’s band, but I didn’t put two and two together until I saw it missing from his hand and then it all clicked. I should’ve picked it up sooner, but we received another case a few days in and your brother entered my life.”

“Very well done, Gregory,” Mycroft said. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, that’s high praise coming from you.” He lifted his glass to the auburn-haired man before taking a drink. He straightened up and set his glass on the coffee table. “I’ll be back in a moment; I’m just going to turn the heat up on the soup and put the goat cheese toasts under the grill. You do like goat cheese, don’t you?”

“I do, yes. What soup are we having?”

“Roasted onion, it’s my nan’s recipe,” Greg called, sending a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner. He returned a minute later, grin still in place. “It’ll all be ready in about five minutes.”

“So now that I know our starter, what are we having for our main and dessert?”

“You’ll see when I serve them,” Greg answered with a sly wink. He sat back down next to the government official. “So was today like a perfect day for you?”

Mycroft thought about it for a moment. “To an extent, I suppose. Though I would want to be somewhere with better weather, but not too hot, and away from the hustle and bustle of working life. Perhaps by a beach. I would wake up early and go for a run, then have a shower and eat breakfast whilst reading the paper like I did today. I would read outside rather than inside and I would spend the whole day reading, not just the afternoon. But the evening would be like this one, a lovely dinner with good company.” 

Greg practically buzzed with happiness. “Aw, thanks, Mycroft. I’ll be right back.”

He headed over to the hob, checking on the beef bourguignon before gathering the plates and bowls to serve up the starter and main. He refilled his glass and took the decanter through to the living area where the dining table sat.

“Dinner will be done in a few minutes. If you want to top up your wine, the decanter is on the table,” Greg stated gently in an attempt not to startle the redhead.

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft replied.

As promised, the DI soon returned with a plate holding the bowl of steaming soup and goat’s cheese toasts. “Here we go,” he set down a plate in front of Mycroft before setting one in his place and taking a seat. He lifted his glass for the second time that evening, “Bon appétit.”

“Thank you, it looks wonderful.”

Greg nodded his thanks and picked up his spoon to begin the meal. They sat in a comfortable silence eating the pleasant food happily until Mycroft spoke again, “This is delicious, Gregory. You say it is your grandmother’s recipe?”

“Yeah, my dad’s mum. I’m half French so I’m used to the cuisine.”

“Can you speak French?”

“Sure, I’m fluent. Dad would speak to me in French growing up, and it was rare that I spoke to him in English until I hit secondary school.”

“Quite interesting.”

“What about you?” Greg asked. “What’s your family like? Apart from Sherlock, obviously.”

“My parents are English, so my heritage is dull in comparison. Mummy and Father are relatively normal people. Mummy enjoys the theatre and was a mathematician—Father says that Sherlock and I inherited our knowledge from her—and Father was an engineer.”

“I did not expect that at all. I would’ve thought your parents would be like you.”

“No, they’re quite average people. Sherlock and I found more enjoyment in learning than making friends. Besides, children our age weren’t as smart as us.”

“No-one’s as smart as you two,” Greg chuckled, dipping one of his toasts into the soup. “I’m guessin’ you were one of the kids at school who spent their lunchtimes in the library?”

“Indeed, I preferred to build on my knowledge than interact with my peers. I was already an outcast considering I was one of the youngest in the school due to my intelligence. I thought it best to keep the basis on that rather than add my lacking social skills to it.”

“How old were you when you started secondary school?”

“Ten. I skipped several years of primary and secondary education and managed to start university at thirteen. Most of the teachers allowed me to leave their classes and focus on the material for my additional GCSEs and A Levels so long as I saw them to prove I was attending school. I had my doctorates by eighteen.”

Greg had stopped eating and was staring slack-jawed at the auburn-haired man. “I shouldn’t be surprised by that, but holy shit that’s impressive. And _doctorates_? You have more than one?”

“I finished both degrees in two years, whereas the other three years were spent acquiring my masters and my doctorates.” Mycroft cleared his throat lightly and took a sip of his wine. “And you? What were you like in school?”

“I was kind of in the middle. I wasn’t popular, but I wasn’t unpopular either, you know? I was on the football team and I got decent grades, but I mucked about a bit. I cleaned my act up for college though, my classes were more interesting than school and I was still on the football team. Uni was fun, I worked hard but I played hard too. I even got a scholarship to play there.”

“Why didn’t you try to make a career out of it? You were clearly very talented.”

“I wasn’t passionate about it,” he answered, “I mean I was, and I still am, but I wanted to do somethin’ that made a difference. Yeah the pay’s amazin’ but it wasn’t enough of an incentive for me.” His eyes having drifted from Mycroft’s, “Helpin’ people, that’s enough incentive for me.” He seemed to snap himself out of his daze and met light blue eyes, his cheeks tingeing pink. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Mycroft replied softly.

The government official finished his meal first and Greg looked up expectantly. “Good?”

“Very,” Mycroft said and quirked a small smile. The butterflies from earlier seemed to explode in the DI’s stomach.

“Good.” He finished the last of his toast and stood, gathering up the plates. “I’ll be back in a minute; I just need to get the kettle on for the pasta. Unless you’d like to join me?” 

“Alright,” Mycroft nodded and stood, quickly topping up their glasses of wine before following Greg into the kitchen. 

The silver-haired man set the plates in the sink before bustling about the kitchen, filling the kettle and turning it on before grabbing a pan and grinding salt into it. “So Mycroft, is there anythin’ you’ve dreamed of doin’ for a while?”

The redhead was quiet a moment, appearing to think about the question. “I would like to see the Aurora Borealis, and travel around Europe a little. There are places my job will never take me.”

“Why haven’t you done it?”

“Gregory, I struggle just to have a _day_ off, never mind a week.”

“When was the last time you got time off work?”

“Since before I took my position.”

“And that was...?”

“Years, Gregory.”

“That’s not good for you, Mycroft. You need time off so you can do your job properly.

“When Britain has a week where it is not under threat or dealing with rival nations then I will, but that has yet to happen.”

“No one can step up and do your job for you?”

“We have someone in training in preparation for my retirement but they still have a lot to learn.”

Greg couldn’t help but snort. “You’ve got ages until you retire.”

“As I said, my replacement has a lot to learn.”

The kettle boiled and Greg set the pan on the cooker, turning it on before pouring the water into the pan then adding the pasta. “Fair enough. You should still find time off, just to give them a test run.”

Mycroft paused, looking up at the ceiling. “Perhaps,” he hummed to himself, “they have been picking things up well as of late.”

“Then do it!” He checked on the beef bourguignon, giving a stir before turning down the heat. “Your ‘prodigy’ can look after the country for a week or two.”

“I suppose they can.” A light smile tugged at the corner of the government official’s lips and Greg grinned back full force.

They stood there for a few moments, sipping their wine as Greg kept an eye on their main and placed large bowls in the oven on a low heat to warm them.

“What do you value most in a friendship?” Greg asked suddenly.

“Meaningful conversation, trust, and understanding,” the auburn-haired man was quick to answer.

The DI nodded slowly in agreement, “Very admirable qualities in a friend.”

“I have yet to find someone who fulfils that criteria.”

His eyes widened as his eyebrows shot up, “Really? No one?”

“Not someone who has kept my trust and maintained their understanding.”

“I hope you find someone who can give you that, and more,” dark brown eyes maintained contact with pale blue, “you deserve it.”

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft replied softly, holding the other man’s gaze for longer than a minute. Greg reluctantly broke eye contact to check on the food.

“Pasta’s ready. Would you like to take your seat as I dish up?”

“Of course.” Mycroft stepped towards Greg and held out a hand, taking the DI’s glass before turning and heading back to the living room.

It wasn’t long until Greg appeared holding two large bowls, setting one in front of the government official. “I present to you beef bourguignon.”

“It looks lovely. Is it another family recipe?”

Greg set his bowl down and sat in his place. “It is indeed, a secret family recipe passed down through generations!” He flashed a grin as he twirled the linguine around his fork.

Mycroft took a bite, chewing slowly. “This is wonderful,” he said after he had swallowed. “Could you give me the recipe?”

“If I told you that I’d have to kill you.”

“Good luck; I would like to see you try.”

“Thanks, I might actually need it. Who knows what crazy skills you have up those tailored sleeves.” Greg sent another cheeky grin before taking a bite of his own dinner.

They remained in a comfortable silence throughout the main, occasionally glancing up at the other before looking down whenever their eyes met.

Greg was the first to finish, pushing his bowl back and openly looking over at Mycroft for the first time since the conversation lulled. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he finished the last of his meal, his eyes downcast, and his general demeanour more relaxed than Greg had ever seen him.

Mycroft pushed his bowl away a moment later. “That was truly delicious, Gregory. If you weren’t so good as a Detective Inspector I would encourage you to open a restaurant.”

Greg stood, collecting the bowls, “You haven’t had dessert yet. Would you rather have it now or give it ten minutes?”

He took a sip of his wine. “Let’s wait ten minutes, shall we?”

“Alright. Go take a seat on the sofa and I’ll be back in a tick.” He quickly went to the kitchen to dispose of the bowls before returning to the living area, making a quick detour to the dining table to pick up his wine glass before joining Mycroft. “Here’s a question for you: should I manage to win you over and we give this a proper go, what would be somethin’ you think I should know?”

Mycroft mulled over the question before he answered. “My work comes first, above anything else. I have a lot of responsibilities which means there will be missed dinners, birthdays, anniversaries, you name it. They are out of my control.”

“Alright,” the DI nodded slowly in understanding. There were many missed occasions in his line of work too, and it was something he’d grown used to.

“And you? In the event that we decide to pursue a relationship, what do you think I should know?”

Greg too took the time to consider his answer. “I fall hard and I fall fast. I will say ‘I love you’ first, but I don’t want you to say it back unless you mean it. I’ll know when our anniversary is, but chances are I’ll lose track of the date and that’s how I’ll forget. But when I love you, I will do so fiercely. I’ll get possessive and I’ll do anything I can to protect you and care for you. I know you won’t need it—you’re _Mycroft Holmes_ for God sake—but I’ll still try,” he paused and met Mycroft’s gaze. “I work unsociable hours too, but I assure you that when I’m pullin’ an all-nighter to get a case solved or doin’ a stake-out when I would much, _much_ rather be home with you.” Silence fell over the two as they gazed into one another’s eyes, bright blue deducing and deep brown trying to convey that _yes he meant every word_.

Mycroft looked away first and cleared his throat. “Shall we have dessert?”

“I’ll go grab it.” Greg quickly stood and headed to the kitchen.

When he returned, Mycroft was sat at the dining table with both wine glasses in their appropriate places. Greg quickly set the tiramisu down before joining him. Dessert was a quiet affair, only murmured compliments of the food and equally quiet responses of thanks covering the gentle guitar of the country songs playing.

It wasn’t long before the glass bowls were empty and Mycroft leaned back. “I must say Gregory; I am very impressed with what you have served tonight. You are a talented cook.”

Greg grinned bashfully, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Mycroft checked his watch then stood. “It is getting late; I really should be heading home.”

Greg checked his own watch and at seeing it was after ten stood as well. “Yeah, it is late.”

Mycroft finished the last of his wine before heading into the hallway, Greg following before standing at the door. Greg looked up at the auburn-haired man, his eyes flickering to his lips, “I enjoyed tonight.”

“As did I,” Mycroft replied softly. “Goodn—”

“Mycroft?” Greg interjected, suddenly appearing nervous. He shuffled his feet, his gaze dropping a moment before returning to bright blue eyes then dropping again to his lips, his own parting slightly. “Would it be alright if I... if I kissed you?”

“No,” Mycroft answered in a quiet but firm tone.

Greg’s head dropped instantly, focussing on his shoes in a bid to hide his disappointment. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Silence fell between the two. This time, it was neither comfortable nor welcome. “Goodnight, Gregory.”

Greg looked up to see Mycroft swiftly leave the flat. Before the door shut, Greg quickly moved forward to catch it before moving to the bannister. “Goodnight, Mycroft!” he called, watching his soulmate’s back retreat further down the stairs and out of sight. Once he could no longer see the other man Greg returned to his flat, running a hand through his hair and sighing deeply.

* * *

**AN:** As always, many thanks to my wonderfully amazing beta ljgryphon!


	7. Get Your Shine On

** Get Your Shine On **

“ _Baby get your shine on!  
_ _Cause you and me be rocking all night long!  
_ _Summer sky drippin’ rhinestones,  
_ _Turn your party lights on,  
_ _Baby get your shine on - shine on!  
_ _Baby get your shine on!_ ” – Florida Georgia Line

* * *

Bright sunlight streamed into Greg’s office as he typed up the latest batch of paperwork that found itself on his desk. He positioned himself so that he could avoid the glaring light bouncing off the monitor. It had been a slow morning, and no new cases had arrived yet—luckily or unluckily, he wasn’t quite sure—and so he found himself looking at the clock on the corner of his screen after every bout of writing he finished.

With a final flurry of fingers over the keyboard, he finally saved and closed the document he had been working on before standing and stretching. After checking his watch and deeming it a suitable time to go for lunch, he grabbed his phone and told his team he would be back in an hour. Greg made his way out of the building and into the blazing sun that was unnatural for early April. Squinting against the bright day he quickly tapped at his phone before holding it to his ear.

The call was answered almost simultaneously. “Good afternoon, Gregory.”

“Afternoon, Mycroft. Fancy meeting up for lunch?”

“Alright, I have no other plans that could get in the way. Where shall we meet?”

“How about the park? Same distance for us both and it’s a gorgeous day.”

“It would be nice to enjoy such lovely weather, especially during this time of year. I take it we will be picking up lunch on the way?”

“Yeah, I’ll get us coffee if you’d like? There’s a great place near Scotland Yard.”

“Ah yes, they do wonderful cappuccinos.”

“I’ll pick one up for you. Do you take sugar?”

“I take it without, thank you. I can be with you in fifteen minutes.”

“Great, I’ll see you soon!”

“Until then, Gregory.”

The call ended and Greg quickly headed to the nearby deli. He procured himself a sandwich, a packet of crisps, and a coke for later before heading to the coffee shop to get a cappuccino for Mycroft and a flat white for himself. After the food was in order he headed off to the arranged meeting place.

The park was average sized with paved paths for pedestrians or cyclists, and benches were dotted along the route. Although it was sometimes hard to distinguish people clearly, the flatness of the terrain made it easy to pick out where someone was should they need to be found.

The DI soon found an empty bench shaded by a large tree, the blossoms clinging on to the branches as the leaves prepared to break through. He had been there no more than five minutes when he saw the approaching figure of his soulmate, impeccably dressed as always swinging his umbrella in one hand and holding the handles of a sturdy paper bag in another. The bag swayed gently in his slackened grip.

“Hey,” Greg greeted warmly, sending the younger man a smile.

“Good afternoon.” Mycroft sat on the bench beside him, setting his bag between himself and his waiting cup of coffee and propping his umbrella up next to him. He then extracted a freshly made turkey breast salad from the bag whilst Greg pulled out his ham sandwich.

“That looks great,” the DI said as he pulled the cling wrap off the top of his sandwich.

“It is. My assistant ordered it from a restaurant who have made my lunch in the past. The owner owes me a favour,” Mycroft replied, picking up a plastic fork.

Greg huffed a laugh. “You Holmes’ and people owing you favours. I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire population of London was indebted to you two.”

“I wouldn’t say the _entire_ population... Perhaps the entirety of some populations that can be found _within_ London, yes.” He took a bite from his fork.

“And which populations would those be?”

Mycroft finished his mouthful and shot the man a knowing look. “Anyone who has ever needed our assistance, knowingly or not.”

Greg shrugged. “That’s true. I guess I’m included in that population?”

“You are, but you owe me less and continue to repay Sherlock.”

“How so?”

“You consistently provide cases to keep him busy and less likely to pester me, and you repay him every time he solves a case by giving him a new one when there are none coming from private clients.”

Greg shrugged again. “He’s the best we have, even if he isn’t officially part of the force. Without him, we’d have more cold cases and take at least a week longer to solve the cases that we could solve.” Mycroft nodded slowly, chewing on his mouthful of salad as Greg spoke again. “So, how has your mornin’ been?”

“Slow, I have a meeting this afternoon I have been preparing for. Yours?”

“Same, just been typin’ up paperwork. Got more to be done when I go back.” Greg took a sip of his coffee. The temperature of the drink was perfectly in-between scalding hot and warm.

Mycroft pulled his phone out and began rapidly tapping on the screen. “That sounds rather mundane. Could you not have Donovan do it?”

“She has her own stack to be gettin’ on with. Besides, I don’t like pilin’ all the crappy jobs on my team just because I can. If I can do it myself then why shouldn’t I?”

“You’re a far better leader in that sense than I am. Then again, I have more important things to take care of most of the time.”

“Like stoppin’ World War Three from breakin’ out,” Greg chuckled with a shake of his head.

Mycroft merely smiled at the comment before turning his attention to his lunch. Greg mimicked, and the two enjoyed the relative peace and quiet in the park.

“This is nice,” Greg stated, leaning back on the bench. “Good company, a nice lunch, and lovely weather. What more could you want?”

“A cold glass of brandy and a good book?”

“Within reasonable expectations, Mycroft. I’m sure it wouldn’t be wise for you to drink on your lunch break.”

“I know, but one can dream,” Mycroft sighed, leaning back on the bench as his eyes lazily scanned the area in front of them. The two fell into a comfortable silence, sipping at their coffees and making light work of the remainder of their lunches.

Greg was the first to finish, balling up the cling wrap as he chewed his last mouthful before tossing it in the bag with the crisps and coke. He leant back, tilting his head toward the sky and closed his eyes with a content sigh. “Think I can come up with an excuse to get out of work for the rest of the afternoon? I don’t think I can bring myself to do paperwork anymore.”

“You need to get it done, Gregory, it won’t do itself,” Mycroft answered simply, setting his fork in the container and closing it. He placed the mostly empty box in the paper bag before finishing his coffee and tossing the cup in as well. He then rose, collecting his umbrella from beside him. “Thank you for inviting me to join you, Gregory. It was nice to actually leave the office for something unrelated to work.”

“My pleasure, thank you for keeping me company.” Greg rose as well with a stretch. “I’ll see you soon?”

“If you would like to.”

“Of course, I do.”

A thick silence hung over them for a long moment before Mycroft spoke up. “I’m sure we can arrange another meeting for the near future.”

“Great,” Greg grinned, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

The younger man began to walk away, “Until then, Gregory.”

“Until then, Mycroft!” the DI called after him, watching his retreating form for a few moments before turning and making his way back to New Scotland Yard.

He arrived back with time to spare, and so he took his time making a coffee in the break room before heading back to his office. Upon entering, he found the pile of paperwork that had been there earlier had disappeared, and his desk looking the cleanest it had all week. Curious, he made his way down the corridor and knocked on Sally’s open door.

She looked up from her computer. “Everythin’ alright, boss?”

“Yeah, d’you know what happened to the paperwork that was on my desk?”

“No idea, mine’s disappeared too. It was here when I went to make coffee about fifteen minutes ago, then when I came back it was gone. It’s appearin’ on the system, though.”

Greg smiled suddenly, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “OK.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, a small smirk playing on her lips, “Do you think this has somethin’ to do with Mr Soulmate?”

“I can only guess. I mentioned it to him when we were havin’ lunch,” he answered as he tapped out a message.

**To: Mycroft  
** ‘So, the paperwork that was on mine and Donovan’s desks has mysteriously disappeared but is appearing on the system...’

“Well isn’t that nice of him?” Sally said. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t care, the boss isn’t here so it’s not like we have to pretend we’re workin’. Catch up on some TV or somethin’, just shut the door and keep the volume down.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” she grinned, turning her attention to her computer screen as she tapped away at the keyboard.

“Have fun, Donovan,” he chuckled before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him. As he was walking back to his office, his phone alerted him to a newly received message.

**From: Mycroft**  
‘Very strange, perhaps one of your officers decided to take it off your hands?  
MH’

Greg smirked as he typed his reply, kicking his office door shut as he walked in.

**To: Mycroft**  
‘Hmm, perhaps... :P  
Thank you :)’ 

Once the message was sent he logged into his computer and opened a new browser before kicking back in his chair to enjoy the latest Match of the Day.

* * *

 

**AN:**  Many thanks as always to my wonderful, brilliant beta ljgryphon! It's her hard work that makes this fic so much better!


	8. Secret Love

** Secret Love **

‘ _Secret love, all the things we do,_  
_For secret love, baby me and you,_  
 _Got a secret lo-o-ove,_  
 _Stayin’ under cover and out of sight,_  
 _If nobody knows, then we’re doin’ it right,_  
 _Secret lo-o-ove,_  
 _Got a secret lo-o-ove._ ’ – Hunter Hayes

* * *

Another case had presented itself in the form of an apparent homicide judging by the bullet hole between the victim’s eyes. Greg was desperate, as he often found himself in these cases, and had no other choice but to call in John and Sherlock.

The moment the black car drew up outside the house Greg knew things were about to get interesting. However, he was unsure whether that was the good or the bad kind of interesting.

Sherlock barrelled out of the car and straight over to the DI with John hot on his heels. “Details, now.”

“Lindsay Evans, twenty-nine, single gunshot between the eyes. Her husband found her after returning from a friend’s stag do, she’s been dead a couple of days. No forced entry, no prints, with only minor signs of a struggle. No known enemies.”

“Where’s the body?”

“Living room, first door on the left.” Sherlock sped into the house, John throwing a wave over his shoulder as he passed.

With the pair of them busy, Greg finally looked over to the elder Holmes, biting the inside of his cheeks in an attempt to hold back the smile tugging at his lips. Mycroft tilted his chin up in recognition before making his way over, swinging his umbrella as he walked before coming to a stop before him.

“Good afternoon, Detective Inspector.”

“Good afternoon, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Greg dug his hands in his pockets, sending the government official a small smile.

“I happened to be visiting Baker Street when you called and I offered them a lift. It was much quicker than a cab.” Mycroft kept the lofty air about him as he spoke.

“That was nice of you,” Greg stated simply, “So, I was thinking—”

Mycroft dropped his voice dangerously low, “Not here, Gregory. There are too many people.”

“And none of them are paying attention to us.”

The man cocked an eyebrow, “You would be surprised.”

Greg took a quick look around them. “No-one is close enough to hear us or is looking in our direction. So, there’s a pub quiz this comin’ Tuesday, and it’s meant to be the toughest in London.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose again, staying arched this time. “Really, Gregory? A _pub quiz_?”

“It’s a nice pub! They do a load of craft beers and stuff from around the country. I think you’d like it. Plus, you get to show how smart you really are.” Mycroft appeared reluctant still, so Greg carried on. “Come on, you promised you’d try. If you hate it then we’ll never go again.”

The redhead rolled his eyes and groaned, “Fine, we can arrange the details later.”

Greg beamed, “Awesome, it’s a date.” He threw the younger man a wink and Mycroft bit back a small smile.

“Oh dear Lord, please tell me I’m wrong.” The pair snapped around to see Sherlock and John had emerged from the house and were standing only a few feet from them. Sherlock looked a mix of shocked and disgusted, and John stood behind him confused.

Mycroft squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I _told_ you here was not the place to discuss this...”

“Discuss what?” John asked.

“They’re soulmates. They’re testing the waters before pursuing a relationship and were just arranging a date. Really, Mycroft, of all the people that could be your soulmate—”

“Thanks, Sherlock—”

“Keep your voice down,” Mycroft spat out through gritted teeth, sending his younger brother one of his infamous icy glares. 

After a momentary standoff, Sherlock relented, and turned his full attention to Greg. “I’ll have your killer found by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest.” With that he swept off, John bidding the pair goodbye before running to catch up with his partner.

The two stood in a tense silence before Greg spoke up. “He was gonna find out soon enough.”

“Yes, but I think you would agree this was neither the time nor the place.”

“I know, but it’s happened. We can’t change it so we need to deal with it. I’m seein’ John on Friday for a beer, I’ll get him to get Sherlock to leave it.” He tightened his grip on the inside of his pockets. “It’s going to be fine, don’t worry.” Greg held his soulmate’s gaze until those icy blue eyes turned away.

“With Sherlock on the case, I must return to the office,” Mycroft stated, the lofty air that had been slowly dissipating now back in full force.

“OK, I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Until then, Gregory,” Mycroft said before turning on his heel and making his way back to the waiting car. Greg watched it pull away before huffing out a long breath, running his hand through his hair before returning to the crime scene.

* * *

**AN:** As always, thank you so much to my constantly wonderful beta ljgryphon! You're a star!


	9. Chicken Fried

**AN:** I am so so so so so sorry that it has been so long since the last chapter! Things have been a bit hectic this side, what with the holidays and the stupid amount of work I have to do whilst I'm off uni, but fear not! I'm going to get back on track with this, a lot of the chapters have been written for a while so I'm just going to try and get them out and worry about the chapter I'm currently stuck on when I get there. But for now, I hope you enjoy :)

**Chicken Fried**

‘ _You know I like my chicken fried,  
__A cold beer on a Friday night,  
__A pair of jeans that fit just right,  
__And the radio up,_ ’ – Zac Brown Band

* * *

 

The week seemed to drag on for longer than an actual week, but Friday afternoon finally arrived and after wishing his team a good weekend Greg left the building, sighing with relief once he was outside. As he walked to his car, he pulled his phone out and opened up a new text message:

**To: John  
** ‘Finally out. Just need to go home, ditch the car and freshen up. Be there in an hour?”

He was just about to start the car when he received a reply:

**From: John  
** ‘OK, see you soon’

He saw no point in responding so tossed his phone into his pocket before driving home, making his way through the rush-hour traffic at his usual pace. After arriving back at the flat he dropped his car keys on his bedside table and stripped his gloves before changing into a pair of dark jeans and a plain, dark grey t-shirt. When Greg was sure he had everything he grabbed his leather jacket and quickly exited the flat, locking the door behind him before making his way out of the building.

Luckily, the walk to the pub was not a long one, the establishment equidistant from both his flat and Baker Street. Greg could see John stood outside after turning onto the street and sped up, sending the blogger a wave when he caught his attention.

“Alright, John,” Greg greeted with a smile when he reached the other man.

“Hey, Greg,” John replied, returning the smile. “Took you long enough.”

“Not that I’m later than I said I would be but you’re tellin’ me; I’m gaspin’ for a drink.”

“Then lead the way,” John gestured for Greg to go ahead of him and the two entered the pub, quickly ordering their pints before finding a booth to sit in.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Greg sighed, staring at the beer for a few moments before taking a long, slow drink.

“Long day?”

“Long  _week_ , especially after the drama durin’ the Evans case.”

“Yeah, that was somethin’...” John took a slow glug of his beer, “So, how long has this been going on?”

“About a month... I was lending a hand on a top secret case and we basically found out we were soulmates. At first, he was against the idea, but I managed to convince him to gimme a chance, so here we are...” Greg paused to take a drink. “I’ve got less than five months to convince him us bein’ together is a good idea. Things are pretty fragile right now; I’m tryin’ to get him to feel more comfortable around me but every time I feel like I’m gettin’ somewhere, somethin’ happens and I feel like we’re back at square one,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Part of me wonders why I don’t just give up; I want to stay hopeful I can prove this is worth it, but I don’t get any feelin’ that he’s attracted to me in any way.” He sighed again. “Sorry, I’ve had no-one to talk to about all this...”

“No, it’s fine...” John replied. “I wouldn’t give up; there’s got to be a reason Mycroft is being like this.”

“But why? I don’t understand.”

“Get him to warm up to you and when you’re closer you can ask him.”

“I’ve spent the past month trying to get him to warm up to me, John.”

“It took Sherlock three months to properly warm up to me, it was six before he even had his gloves off around the flat. You know the Holmes brothers are different like that; they didn’t really have friends growing up, we’re the closest thing they’ve got.”

“Except you two are way past friends.”

John shrugged, “Soulmates encompass all forms of relationships, you know that.”

“True,” Greg leant back in his chair, “I just wish he’d give me something.”

“He will, you’ve just gotta be patient,” John huffed a laugh, “You know, Sherlock locked himself in his room for two days after we found out we were soulmates.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I had to threaten to break his door down so we could talk about it. And we took it slow too; he had to get used to having someone in his life who cared about him outside of his family. He was just about used to having a companion in general, the revelation of having a soulmate when he’d been told by so many people he probably didn’t have one kind of blindsided him.”

“Wait, what?”

John lowered his voice a little, leaning in, “Don’t say anything, but when he was at school the kids would tease him, saying he probably didn’t have a soulmate because he was so different. I didn’t find out about it until about a year ago.”

Greg looked forward blankly, slumping to lean on the table again., “I wonder if kids said that to Mycroft. He said he was an outcast at school, especially since he was so young.”

“Sherlock skipped a few years, but he soon stopped bothering because it was never challenging enough. I think Mycroft wouldn’t have had to deal with that; he’s better at keepin’ to himself than Sherlock.”

“That’s true, I hope he didn’t have to deal with that. No-one should be told that.”

“Kids are mean, though, you know that.”

“Yeah, but still.” 

The two were quiet, leant back in their seats drinking their beers and lost in their thoughts until John broke it, “So when are you next seeing him?”

“Tuesday, I’m takin’ him to a pub quiz,” Greg grinned.

John raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking Mycroft to a pub quiz?”

“It’s meant to be the toughest in London, and they sell a load of craft beers. I think he’ll enjoy it; he gets to show off his intellect and the beer is good. Who knows, it might loosen him up a little.”

“That would be a miracle,” John chuckled.

“I’m prayin’ for one,” Greg cracked a grin.

“What have you done with him already?”

“Well, our first date was mini golf then the last planned date I made him dinner. We met up earlier this week when the weather was good for lunch in the park, but that’s all we’ve done so far.”

“Do you talk a lot apart from arranging these?”

“Not really; I don’t want to bug him.”

“You won’t be. Whether he likes it or not, he is attracted to you and he will want to talk to you. Just ask him about his day, get to know him more.”

“There’s no harm in tryin’,” Greg said thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” the ex-army doctor grinned. 

“Anyway, how are things with you and Sherlock?”

“Same old,” John sighed, “I’m actually thinking about proposing.”

Greg raised his eyebrows, leaning back again, “Wow, finally, it’s only been what? Five years?”

“I know, but it feels right. We’re happy, Sherlock’s settled a lot more, we’re financially stable, things just feel like they’re going right, ya know?”

“Yeah, that’s great John, I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Greg, it means a lot,” he sent the DI a smile, “I was actually hoping you’d help me pick out a ring?”

“Yeah, of course, I’d be honoured.”

“Thanks,” John said, his smile widening, “I’m gonna grab another pint, d’ya want one?”

“If you don’t mind, sure,” Greg replied, nodding. When John left, Greg pulled his phone out and opened up a new message:

**To: Mycroft  
** ‘Hope you’ve had a good day :) I’m out having a few pints with John.’

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a few moments before hitting send and tucking the phone back in his pocket. 

John soon returned, setting a pint in front of Greg, “There we go.”

“Thanks, I’ll get the next round.”

“It’s alright,” John sat back down, “So you have a pub quiz planned, anything more romantic?”

“Well, I’m hoping to do a picnic over the summer if the weather permits, and if he’s sufficiently warmed to me. He wants to keep things pretty low-key for now and I don’t have the budget to take him somewhere that would cater to his more sophisticated tastes, so romance is tough. I sent him flowers, though.”

“Flowers are good, and you can do low-key, inexpensive  _and_  romantic. Dinner can be romantic if you try, or you could watch a film, treat him to a massage? Done by someone else, you two aren’t at that stage yet.”

“I might do dinner again if the time arises. A film sounds good, I just don’t know what he likes.”

“You could try asking him?”

“Do I look fifteen to you?”

“You definitely don’t.”

“Piss off, you’re hardly a picture of youth yourself.”

“I’m not saying I am.”

“You’ve been with Sherlock for too long; you’re gettin’ snarkier.”

“I’ve always been snarky, he just brings it out of me more. And we’re off-topic,” John shot Greg a look, “You can easily bring it up in conversation.”

“It just sounds childish, I’m tryin’ to prove I’m mature enough for him.”

“You’re overthinking this way too much, mate. He’s not going to think less of you for trying to get to know him. And anyway, he has enough maturity in his life as it is, you could be the one to get him to live a little, ya know?”

“True... I just don’t know what he wants in a soulmate, and I don’t feel like I can ask him because he was so against us even trying to be together in the first place.”

“You can still ask him; if you want any kind of chance of winning him over. Otherwise, you’ll be wasting not only your time but his as well-”

“But he probably thinks I’m wasting his time anyway!” Greg ran a hand through his hair and sighed, “It feels so hopeless but I can’t give up on this, him,  _us_ , ya know? I’ve waited for my soulmate to come along for years, and now I  _finally_  have him, kind of...”

“I know, mate, I know,” John said softly. “Try and forget you’re trying to win him over; it's adding pressure to a budding relationship which has its own difficulties. Enjoy your time with him and he’ll start enjoying his time with you. If you go in all nervous, even if you hide it well, he’ll know; he’s a Holmes after all.”

“You know what? You’re right;” Greg replied, “for all I know this is the only time I’ll get with him so I’m gonna make the most of him. No more over-thinkin’ things that probably don’t even matter.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me vent, mate. I needed it,” Greg clapped a hand on John’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, I could tell,” John mimicked, sending the DI a smile. “Now can we please move on?”

Greg chuckled, “Yeah, course we can.” 

With Greg feeling better than he had in weeks, the pair swiftly moved on to what had happened in the world since the two had last spoken.


	10. I'd Lie

**AN:** I'm sorry! I know it's later than planned, blame uni and all that, I'll do my best with 11, enjoy!

**I'd Lie**

' _Yes I could tell you,_  
 _His favourite colour's green,_  
 _He loves to argue,_  
 _Born on the seventeenth,_  
 _His sister's beautiful,_  
 _He has his father's eyes,_  
 _And if you asked me if I loved him,_  
 _I'd lie,_ ' – Taylor Swift

* * *

Friday afternoon finally came and after bidding his assistant a good weekend, Mycroft left his office and made his way out of the building, exchanging pleasantries with those he was acquainted with until he finally made it to his car. Once the door was shut the car swiftly set off, the buildings passing in a near-blur as the redhead relaxed into his seat, unlocking his phone and browsing through the day's news.

Just as he finished reading an article about the latest happenings in Chechnya, the car slowed and after thanking his driver he made his way into the house, dropping his keys into the bowl by the front door once he ensured it was locked. He stripped off his blazer, waistcoat and tie, draping them over one of the armchairs in the living room before taking a seat and huffing out a sigh.

He allowed himself to decompress for a few minutes, taking the time to roll his sleeves up to the elbow before rising and heading to the kitchen to pull out the fish pie his housemaid had left for him. He turned the oven on before heading back into the living room to turn the radio on, allowing the classical music to become background noise as he took his discarded clothing up to his room and setting them in the suit bag ready to go to the dry cleaners. He then returned downstairs and placed his dinner in the oven before setting the timer and returning to the living room. He plopped on the sofa and picked up the book beside him and began to read, exhaling deeply.

He was two paragraphs into where he had left off when his phone chimed, indicating the arrival of a text message and he lazily unlocked it.

**From: Sherlock Holmes**  
'John's gone out.  
SH'

He sighed before hitting the call button, holding it to his ear as he continued to read. He was unsurprised to find it went to voicemail, so opened the message thread.

**To: Sherlock Holmes**  
'And?  
MH'

He tossed the phone aside and returned to reading his book only to be pulled away from it a minute later from his phone chiming again.

**From: Sherlock Holmes**  
'He's gone out with your goldfish. And I'm bored.  
SH'

He ran his free hand through his hair as he replied.

**To: Sherlock Holmes**  
'And you expect me to alleviate your boredom how exactly?  
MH'

He hit send and rested back in his seat a moment before swinging himself up and heading up to his room. He returned minutes later holding an old, leather-bound book and a navy and cream, marble-design fountain pen before sitting down and checking his phone.

**From: Sherlock Holmes**  
'I don't know, humour me. Has Gethin succeeded in sweeping you off of your feet? Or are you still refusing to accept the truth?  
SH'

Mycroft sighed again; he did not need his brother talking about his private matters, ever.

**To: Sherlock Holmes**  
'His name is Gregory, and I refuse to discuss my personal life with you.  
MH'

He set his phone down and opened the book, finding a blank page after the last entry before uncapping his pen and beginning to write.

' _He has gone out with his friend for a drink. I have no idea why my source felt the need to tell me this, probably to get under my skin. I'm tempted to find his location and see him, but that would be unusual behaviour on_ '

His phone rang out again and he sighed, quickly penning ' _my behalf._ ' before picking up the device and unlocking.

**From: Sherlock Holmes**  
'Whatever. Avoidance isn't becoming, especially not with love. You'll end up lonely, you know.  
SH'

He quickly replied.

**To: Sherlock Holmes**  
'I worry for your memory, brother mine; I have told you before I am not lonely. And continue discussing this and I simply will not reply. What will be your "entertainment" then?  
MH'

He set his phone down and returned to writing.

' _I'm_ _forcing myself to refrain from tracking him down on the CCTV, seeing him- even on a screen- will do nothing to help my initial temptation. I do like seeing him relaxed and happy, though, he always tries to appear so in my company but I can see how nervous he really is. It's sad, but it is also for the best. Distance is needed between us._ '

He paused to think only to be snapped out of his daze by the sound of his phone indicating a new message.

**From: Sherlock Holmes**  
'You're no fun.  
SH'

He chose to ignore his brother's message, instead focussing on his latest entry, which he could only do for a moment as he heard the timer for the oven going off. Setting the journal aside he rose and headed for the kitchen, wasting no time in silencing the alarm before taking the dish out and setting it on the counter. Whilst the pie cooled, he heated up the already-steamed vegetables in the microwave and collected a fork and spoon before dishing out half of the meal from the small dish as the microwave dinged, indicating the vegetables were ready. He quickly took the bowl out of the microwave and spooned the vegetables onto the plate before taking it to the dining room. He ate in silence, only the faint sound of the radio adding to the atmosphere.

He finished his meal and stood, moving to the kitchen to set the plate and cutlery into the dishwasher with the glass bowl which the vegetables were in initially before getting some foil from one of the many cupboards and tearing off a piece to cover the fish pie. Once sure everything that needed to be done had been completed, he switched off the kitchen light and made his way back to the living room, taking a seat where he had been before eating and checking his phone to find he had a new message which he swiftly opened.

**From: Gregory Lestrade  
** 'Hope you've had a good day :) I'm out havin a few pints with John.'

Mycroft smiled softly at the message before physically shaking himself and locking his phone again. After tossing it back onto the cushion he opened his journal again and started a new paragraph.

' _He has just sent me a text saying that he hopes I have had a good day and he's out. If it was anybody else I would find the sentimentality of the message nauseating, but from him, I find it rather endearing. He's showing he cares. I should not enjoy this as much as I do. I have few guilty pleasures in life, and this is one I certainly shouldn't indulge in, but I find that I cannot help myself. But then again, I do not indulge when in his company which would be the ideal time in which to do so, so I can allow this in private, can't I?_ '

He stopped to consider this a moment before continuing to pen his musings.

' _One might consider it a good thing as I have few real joys in life, but on the other hand it will make things harder when the deal is over and we go our separate ways. I could just live for now and enjoy our time- in private of course, it would be counter-productive to let him think this is going to develop into anything more. However, the question is whether or not I will be able to deal with the repercussions; this is not a standard relationship that is going to end, this is time I am spending with my soulmate, which is a vast difference to anything I have experienced in the past._ '

He leant back, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it slump to the side, holding his pen looser than when he was writing. He then gripped the fountain pen tighter and began scribbling again.

' _It would make me more human. But is that something I want? Do I want to risk affecting how I am? I can push a number of personal matters to the back of my mind, but this could be much more difficult, from what I understand of these kinds of bonds. Thank the Lord it's the weekend so I'm away from the office and can truly think about this._ '

He closed the journal and placed the cap on his fountain pen before standing to return them to their usual place. Upon arriving back in the living room he walked over to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a glass of brandy before taking his seat again. He swirled the amber liquid before taking a slow sip, the radio being the only noise to fill the silence in the house. He set the glass on the table and moved so he could comfortably steeple his fingers before closing his eyes, playing out the scenarios in his head in order to figure out the best way to go about his problem.

He had considered a number of possibilities when his phone chimed. He opened his eyes and reached for his phone, only then seeing that it was past ten as he saw the time momentarily before unlocking his phone and reading the message.

**From: Gregory Lestrade  
** 'Are you awake?'

He quickly tapped out a reply.

**To: Gregory Lestrade**  
'I am  
MH'

Seconds after the message had been delivered his phone rang.

"Good evening, Gregory."

"Good evening, Mycroft," Greg's cheery voice replied through the speaker, "How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you, and you? How was your time with John?"

"I'm good, yeah, glad it's weekend," he huffed a short laugh, "and seein' John was good, we caught up and had a laugh. How was your day? You never replied to my text."

"It appeared as though you did not expect one. But today was good, I caught up on a lot of necessary paperwork that needed my attention and now I am ready to enjoy a hopefully relaxing weekend."

"Sounds good, I'm hopin' for the same," Greg paused and Mycroft could hear the faint sounds of shuffling, "What have you been up to this evening?"

"Nothing much, reading," he glanced over to the book he had all but forgotten about since his brother's first text had come in. "There's no need to ask what you have been doing this evening."

"What have you been reading?"

"' _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ ' by Oscar Wilde; I recently read ' _The Importance of Being Earnest_ ' and enjoyed it so decided to finally read it."

"I thought that would have been something you had already read."

"I try to know all of the stories in the Literary Canon as well as others that pique my interest, but there are so many literary texts that it is difficult to read all of them, especially when one has other commitments and uses of their time."

"That's fair, I haven't read them myself, I take it they're good?"

"Very, I would recommend them. It is obvious why they are a part of the Canon."

"I'll give them a read then," the silence was brief, "anyway, I'm headin' to bed. I just wanted to see how your day's been."

"Thank you, Gregory, I will speak to you soon, no doubt."

"You know it," Greg chuckled.

"Until then, Gregory, goodnight."

"Night, Mycroft, until then," he said and Mycroft lifted the phone from his ear to end the call. He placed the phone in his pocket before rising, picking up the glass from the table to drain the last of the brandy. Once empty, he set the glass back on the table and collected his book before heading up to his room to prepare for bed.


	11. Tonight

**AN:** I know! I know! It’s been too long and I’m sorry! I’ve been swamped with uni work- three assignments due in just over as many weeks- but here it is! Enjoy!

* * *

 

“ _If words could make it real,_  
_I'd tell you how I feel,_  
 _Instead I'm waiting here on my knees love,_  
 _I know how it feels to breathe,_  
 _With you beside me,_  
 _I think about it always..._

_Tonight, tonight, tonight,_  
 _I'm waiting for,_  
 _Waiting for the night,_  
 _Tonight, tonight, tonight,_  
 _I'm waiting for,_  
 _Waiting forrrrrr._ ” – Sugarland

* * *

 

As soon as the clock in the corner of Greg’s computer screen showed 16:30, he slung his bag over his shoulder and quickly locked up his office, calling a farewell to his team over his shoulder before he bolted out of the building. He wasted no time getting to his car and exiting the Yard premises, glad to have been able to get away early as he made his way through the traffic, just missing the worst of the rush hour jams as he arrived back at his building. He made his way up to his flat, swiftly dropping his bag on the sofa when he was inside and heading straight for a shower.

At six o’clock Greg was locking up, having changed from his old work clothes into a black, ribbed jumper, black jeans, black boots and a simple, black jacket. After pocketing his keys, he made his way out of the building before heading to the underground station to catch the tube to the pub.

He arrived early and found a table for the pair, setting his coat on the cushioned seating running along the edge of the establishment before sitting down. His eyes darted around the pub, from the door to the bar to where the guy running the quiz would sit to his entwined hands resting on the table back to the door before pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time before setting it on the table and looking around everything again.

As soon as his phone ticked to seven o’clock, Mycroft stepped in the door. He held his usual lofty air about him, wearing one of his signature three-piece suits- dark grey with a dark red tie that contrasted his pale skin and highlighted the auburn tint in his hair- and, surprisingly to Greg, no gloves. But then again, it was considered unusual for someone to wear gloves in such a social setting when they were usually reserved for work. Moments after entering, the government official locked eyes on Greg before making his way over.

“Good evening, Gregory,” Mycroft greeted, taking a seat next to the DI.

“Good evening, Mycroft, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you, and you?”

“Yeah, I’m good thanks. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I made sure to have something before I left the house.”

“Good, me too.” He paused for a moment before continuing, “You look nice.”

“Thank you; as do you.”

“Thank you. What would you like to drink?”

“Any pale ale you would recommend, if that is alright.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back.” Greg sent the younger man a warm smile before heading over to the bar, looking over the various options to choose from before ordering two locally brewed pale ales. He paid the bartender before carrying the two pints over, setting them on the table before sitting back down. “There we go,” he got comfortable before lifting up his glass in the other man’s direction, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Mycroft replied, clinking their glasses together before they both took a slow sip of their drinks. He appeared to consider the taste before commenting, “Good, very refreshing.”

“I’m glad you like it; I haven’t tried this one before but it looked good.” Greg leant back in his seat as he took another drink. “So, how’s your day been?”

“Very dull; I had a number of meetings to attend and run. And yours?”

“Alright; I got in early so I could leave early enough to miss the worst of the traffic so I got a peaceful start to the day. The boss was out so it was pretty laid-back, just wrapping up the latest case really.”

“Ahh yes, the Parris case. Brother mine’s assistance was unnecessary in this one, yes?”

“Yeah; the guy who did it left DNA. He panicked after he did it.”

“So it was not a meditated murder?”

“No, a standard crime of passion. Parris had been coming on to the murderer’s girlfriend, the guy confronted him, things got physical and he smacked Parris a bit too hard, then teamed with the force he hit the ground he had no chance.”

“I see, so more of a manslaughter?”

“By the looks of things, yeah.”

A comfortable silence fell over the pair as they took occasional sips of their drinks until a member of staff walked by their table and offered them an answer sheet for the quiz. Greg took it with a smile and declined the offer of a pen, pulling one from his jacket pocket. “What will our team name be?”

“Oh dear Lord, I forgot we would need one,” Mycroft sighed. “Could we _please_ refrain from tasteless jokes and innuendos?”

“Don’t worry; I’d rather go for funny puns than dirty jokes for a title too. Shall I have a look online?”

“It will probably be our best bet.”

Greg pulled his phone out and opened Safari, quickly finding a website containing various pub quiz team names. “Agatha Quiztie?”

Mycroft huffed a short laugh. “Maybe, see what else there is.”

Greg continued to look through, ignoring the countless sexual names. “Les Quizerable?”

“No; I am not a fan of musicals.”

“Tequila Mockingbird? The Wise Quackers?”

“Any others?

“Not that are decent.”

“Shall we go for Agatha Quiztie?”

“Alright.” He nodded and wrote it in the section designated to write their team name. “Do you want me to get another round in before it starts?”

“It would probably be a good idea; do you know how long it lasts?”

“It’ll be done by about nine, they have a break about half way through for the bonus round. Same again?”

“Let’s try another one, shall we?”

“Sure,” Greg flashed Mycroft another grin before heading to the bar, ordering another two pints of a different pale ale as the quizmaster informed everyone it would be starting soon before returning to the table. He quickly set them down before moving into his seat, picking up the glass of the first remaining pint and taking a sip. “So, what are your specialities?”

“Gregory, there are too many for me to list. I am a master of a number of fields. What about you?”

“Music, films, some literature, crime, anything that has appeared on ‘QI’,” he chuckled as he said the last one.

“It sounds like we will cover most, if not all, of the categories covered in the quiz,” Mycroft stated, “Is there a prize for the winning team?”

“Yeah, six pints of whichever beer they want.”

Before Mycroft could reply, the quizmaster kicked off the evening, welcoming everyone before giving out the first question,

“What does the Mongolic word ‘dalai’ mean, as in the Dalai Lama?”

Before Greg could turn to ask Mycroft, a warm presence appeared at his ear. “It means ‘ocean’,” the auburn-haired man whispered, and Greg had to do everything in his power to suppress the shudder that ran down his spine from the heat hitting him. He swallowed and nodded, quickly noting the answer down before focussing his attention on the man in charge of the game- a short, overweight regular of the pub who wore a flat-cap to hide his baldness.

This continued for the next few questions, Greg silently jotting Mycroft’s answers down whilst doing everything he could to ignore how good it felt to have his soulmate’s lips so close to him. He quickly finished his first pint over the course of the first few questions, hoping it would help him deal with his predicament.

“Alright, next question,” the host said, “captured in North Vietnam in 1966, American Prisoner of War Jeremiah Denton repeatedly blinked his eyes in Morse Code during a forced television conference spelling what word?”

Once again, Mycroft leant in. “Torture.”

Greg turned to face him, murmuring, “How do you know that?”

“I watched it for training purposes, so I could recognise it should it occur again. Rather clever of Denton, actually.”

“Yeah, it is,” Greg mused, holding his gaze for a moment before turning back to the sheet lying in front of him and writing the answer down.

After a few more questions the quizmaster called for the break, stating that the bonus round sheet would be handed out. As he left his seat, Greg stood also, “Another drink?”

“Please.”

“Same again?”

“Could I get the first one, please?”

“Of course you can,” Greg answered, flashing a blinding grin, “I’ll be back.” He turned and headed to the bar, ordering them both the first ale they had before swiftly returning to the table and sitting down again. “So, what do we have here?” He looked down at the new sheet in front of them.

“Phobias,” Mycroft answered, his eyes scanning over the list.

“I know arachnophobia; I mean who doesn’t?” Greg stated, quickly scribbling down ‘spiders’.

Mycroft began to murmur, “‘Bathophobia’ is fear of depth, ‘carcinophobia’ is fear of cancer, ‘dinophobia’ is fear of dizziness or whirlpools-”

“Alright, slow down, I can only write so fast,” Greg laughed quietly, writing down the three the redhead had rattled off. “Alright, go on.”

“‘Hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia’ is ironically the fear of long words,” Mycroft stopped to allow Greg to write it down, “‘methyphobia’ is the fear of alcohol,” he paused once again, “‘philophobia’ is fear of being in love or falling in love,” Mycroft stated the term a little more tensely than the others, “and finally, ‘triskaidekaphobia’ is the fear of the number thirteen.”

“Very well done, Mr Holmes,” Greg turned to smile charmingly at his soulmate, “you really are as intelligent as everyone makes out.”

Mycroft’s cheeks pinked- from alcohol in his system or from Greg’s comment, neither were sure- before he cleared his throat and picked up his pint, quickly draining it before moving on to the recently acquired third glass. Greg sipped at his drink, the two sat in silence as they waited the short time for the quiz to resume.

They were snapped out of their thoughts by the host’s voice calling over the speakers, “Alright everyone, are we ready to start again?” He looked around for a general consensus before speaking again, “Alright, next question: in what year were the Orkney Islands reannexed to Scotland from Norway?”

The familiar presence of Mycroft hit Greg’s side and he sucked in a sharp breath. “1472,” the auburn-haired man whispered.

Greg quickly wrote it down. “A history buff, I see?” he turned to face the other man to find he was much closer than necessary, the smell of ale strong on his breath.

“I have dabbled in certain aspects of the field, yes,” he murmured.

Greg held his gaze for a few moments until they were forced to look away to concentrate on the next question, however Mycroft stayed close to Greg, hot air gliding down his cheek as he looked over Greg’s shoulder, moving his head to whisper in Greg’s ear every answer that came up before returning to his earlier position.

“Alright, next question: on which Hebridian island did Prince Charles crash a plane in 1994?” the host asked.

“I know this one, I remember it happening,” Greg muttered as the heat moved from his cheek to his ear.

“Islay,” Mycroft murmured, moving away from the DI to take a drink of his beer.

“Of course you know; you were probably one of the first to hear,” Greg muttered with a soft laugh, jotting the answer down.

“I was not working in a high enough position in the government at the time, I simply recollect it happening. That and Charles is reminded about it frequently even now,” he scooted closer so he could look over Greg’s shoulder more comfortably than before, the entirety of the DI’s left side warming from the heat radiating off of the other man.

“OK, time for our final round, the culture round!” the host called after a few moments. “First: which American country band have released ten albums in the sixteen years they have been performing together, including ‘Melt’, ‘Unstoppable’ and ‘Rewind’?”

Greg lit up, dipping to scrawl down ‘Rascal Flatts’. “I have ‘Rewind’ and a few of their older tracks too,” he whispered to Mycroft.

“Very well done, Gregory,” Mycroft said, a warm smile forming on his lips, causing Greg’s stomach to swoop at the sight.

The culture round proved to be the silver-haired man’s strong suit, answering all of the questions without any assistance from his companion.

“And our final question of the evening,” the host said after giving everyone time to write down which Beatle was the eldest- Greg knew it was Ringo Starr, “Name all four houses in Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? A point for every house you write down and a bonus point if you get them all right.”

Mycroft huffed a sound indicating his confusion as Greg wrote ‘Pukwudgie, Horned Serpent, Wampus and Thunderbird’. “I’m a Harry Potter nerd, sue me,” Greg murmured with a hint of laughter in his tone. “I’m in Pukwudgie, Gryffindor at Hogwarts.”

“I see,” he hummed, sitting up straighter to reach for his pint.

“Alright everyone, that’s it for the quiz! Come and hand both of your sheets in and I’ll announce the winner shortly,” the quizmaster said and Greg moved to stand, picking up the sheets.

“I’ll be back; d’you want another drink?”

“I’m alright for the moment, thank you.”

“Alright, won’t be long.” He turned and quickly made his way over to the host, handing over their sheets before heading to the bar and buying his fourth pint. He soon returned, sliding into his seat. “Alright?”

“Fine, absolutely fine,” Mycroft replied softly, staring ahead a beat before turning to smile at the DI.

“Are you enjoyin’ the beer?”

“Very much so; I usually rather drink spirits, but these are much better than I anticipated them to be.”

“What can I say? I know what to look for,” Greg replied, a cheeky tone to his voice as he threw his soulmate a wink. “What did you think of the quiz?”

“Relatively easy, but my knowledge covers a number of fields outside of the country’s national curriculum- past and present- and further levels of study so I understand why others would consider it difficult. I had to do some thinking on a few of the questions.”

“So it was harder than you thought it would be?”

“To an extent; you told me it was the most difficult quiz in London so I expected it to cover more refined topics- which it did- but it was still all things which I knew.”

“I could tell,” Greg chuckled and took a drink of his beer.

“I was unaware you were a fan of the Harry Potter series.”

“Yeah, I went and saw the first film when it came out and I was hooked, I bought all the books that were already out and pre-ordered the rest.”

“Are you an avid fan?”

“A bit, like I don’t read the fanfiction or any of that, but I’m clued up on the books and films and have an account on Pottermore.”

“I see,” Mycroft nodded.

“Have you read any of the books?”

“No.”

“I highly recommend them; they’re marketed to kids but the themes- especially in the later ones- are a lot darker.”

“You seem adamant about this.”

“I am; it’s a wonderful series.”

“I will have to read them for myself.”

“You’re more than welcome to borrow mine. I haven’t read them in a while, I feel like I should do a re-read soon, though.”

“Alright everybody,” the host called over the mic, cutting their conversation. “I’ve tallied up the results, and we have a first tonight; the winning team are the first to ever get every single question right.” Murmurs erupted around the room. “We’ve checked the CCTV and made sure there was no evidence of cheating, so I’m happy to announce the winning team is ‘Agatha Quiztie’!” Everyone clapped as Greg grinned and stood, heading over to where the man stood who gave them the voucher that would get them their drinks. “How did you do it?” he asked Greg.

“My quiz partner is an incredibly intelligent man,” Greg answered with a grin, looking back over to Mycroft who merely smiled before returning his attention to his drink. He thanked the host before heading to the bar, ordering six of the beers they had been drinking before returning to the table with the tray. “Our winnings for the evening.”

“Excellent,” Mycroft stated, taking a glass from the tray and taking a sip.

They made their way through the drinks, talking about everything that came to mind, including Mycroft’s taste in movies- psychological thrillers and documentaries- and when they were at the ends of their last beers, Greg asked, “Shall we think of movin’ then?”

“Yes, I shall call my driver,” he answered, pulling his phone out before searching for the required number. After a quick phone-call, he tucked it back into his blazer pocket, “He will be with us in five minutes.”

“Great,” Greg grinned before finishing the last of his drink. “Are you ready? I feel like I need some fresh air before I get the tube.”

“My driver can take you home.”

“OK, thanks,” Greg replied, watching Mycroft finished his drink as he carefully slid his jacket on, manoeuvring his arm so it missed the auburn-haired man as the material slid up his arm. “Ready?”

“Yes.” The pair stood and exited the pub, Greg throwing a wave over his shoulder as they headed out into the brisk night air.

Mycroft stopped just outside of the door, inhaling deeply. “I’m a lot more intoxicated than I thought I was.”

“Yeah, the beers are stronger than the standard stuff. Are you alright?”

“Absolutely wonderful, Gregory,” he proclaimed. They walked a few steps away from the entrance, their shadows elongating slightly as they moved further away from the nearby streetlamp until they were closer to the kerb where they stopped, Mycroft suddenly turning to face Greg and causing him to mimic. Mycroft stepped into Greg’s personal space, his arms slipping around Greg’s waist and Greg held his gaze- noting the flecks of grey in Mycroft’s irises- as Mycroft leant in, Greg’s eyes instinctively closing as their lips met.

The kiss was softer than Greg thought it might be, but he wasn’t about to complain as he slid his arms around Mycroft’s waist and breathed in the heady scent of his cologne and tasted the tangy ale on his lips. Mycroft opened his mouth and his tongue moved to touch the tip of Greg’s before swirling slowly, coating Greg’s taste buds with more of the pale ale and something he struggled to identify.

The sound of a car drawing up beside them caused Mycroft to break away, a giddy grin on his lips as he took Greg’s hand and pulled him into the back of the car. Once the door was shut behind them, Mycroft quickly pressed the button to raise the partition between them and the driver before leaning in to kiss Greg again, moving to pin the silver-haired man against the side of the car they had just entered from as he pressed his hands into Greg’s chest, sliding them down his body before slipping them under his jumper. Greg moaned softly at the contact, his hands sliding up Mycroft’s blazer and pressing against his shirt-covered back as he kissed him back, their tongues swirling together.

Greg broke away, panting heavily, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I found out we were soulmates.”

Mycroft’s hands rested on Greg’s ribs, his pupils dilated and he opened his mouth as if he was about to reply when the car turned and Mycroft lost his balance, caught by Greg before he fell off the seat. Mycroft giggled, “That would have been interesting.”

Greg eyed him suspiciously, “How drunk are you, Mycroft?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine-”

“You don’t sound fine; you sound really drunk.” He reluctantly sat up, steadying Mycroft to sit in the seat next to him. “This probably isn’t the best idea-”

“Greg, I’m fine, honestly-”

“You rarely contract your words and you _never_ call me Greg, Mycroft; you’re not just drunk, you’re pissed.”

“So I’m a little bit drunk, who cares? Come on, Greg,” Mycroft leant over to kiss him again and Greg pressed a soft kiss to his lips before breaking away, causing the auburn-haired man to whine.

“I care, Mycroft. If you were a bit tipsy or borderline drunk like I am and saying this, then it would be a different story, but I have a feelin’ you’re gonna regret this in the mornin’. If you still wanna kiss me when the alcohol’s worn off, let me know and I’ll be with you in a shot, but not like this.” Greg held Mycroft’s gaze until the younger man relented, moving to rest his cheek on Greg’s shoulder.

“Fine,” Mycroft muttered, moving to nuzzle into the crook of Greg’s neck.

Greg slipped an arm around Mycroft and rested his head on top of his soulmate’s. “Sober You will thank me in the morning.”

They stayed in that position for the short remainder of the journey until the car pulled up at Mycroft’s, and Greg had to admit he was impressed.

Despite it being dark, he could see it was a large house which he could tell was once two semi-detached by the mirror imaging on both sides. The driver opened the door and Greg got out before helping Mycroft then turning to the driver, “Look, I’m just gonna make sure he gets to bed OK and then is it alright if you drive me back? Mycroft said it would be-”

“That is absolutely fine, Sir. I’ll be right here when you return,” the older man smiled.

Greg returned the smile before turning his attention to Mycroft. “Alright, you, let’s get you to bed.” He wrapped an arm around the younger man’s waist before helping him up the path to the door. “Where are your keys?”

“They’re here,” Mycroft searched blindly in his interior pockets before pulling out a bundle of keys then proceeding to fumble with them until holding up a single, dull gold key.

“Give it here, I’ll put it in.” Greg took it before turning it in the lock and pushing the door open. As he helped Mycroft through the door- grateful that the government official had left his hall light on when he had left- he heard the alarm begin to go off. “Can you do your alarm or do you want me to do it?”

“I can do it, I can do it,” Mycroft replied, stumbling to the panel. It took a few goes, but the alarm was soon deactivated and Greg joined him, wrapping a supporting arm around his waist. “I’m guessin’ you’re upstairs?”

“Yep,” he replied, popping the ‘p’ as Greg walked them up the stairs. “Right at the end of the corridor on the right.” Greg followed the instructions and soon pushed open the door before turning on the lights.

It was a plain room, with white walls and cream carpets, furnished with a light coloured wood and a door which Greg assumed led to an en-suite.

“Are your pyjamas on your bed?” he asked, moving them to the bed before sitting Mycroft on the edge.

“I don’t want my pyjamas,” Mycroft replied almost petulantly.

“OK, no pyjamas,” Greg chuckled, kneeling to untie Mycroft’s shoelaces, “You get your tie and waistcoat off, yeah?”

“Good idea.” Mycroft tugged his tie out and began to roughly undo it, soon pulling it off his neck before throwing it to the floor. “I haven’t been this drunk in _years_.”

“And you’re gonna remember why in the mornin’,” Greg quipped with a laugh, easing off the first shoe as Mycroft worked at the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Stay here tonight, Greg, it’ll be nice, it’ll be fun.”

“Buy me dinner first, love,” Greg chuckled, easing off the other shoe before standing. “Gimme your blazer and waistcoat.” Mycroft wrestled them off of his body before handing them over. “Now be careful when you take your pants off, where do these go?”

“There’s a suit cover in the wardrobe,” Mycroft pointed at the wardrobe in question with a flopping hand, a large ornate cupboard set a few feet from the bottom of the bed.

Greg emptied the pockets and put everything on his bedside table before walking over and opening the doors. He extracted the cover and carefully hung the articles up on the cushioned hanger sitting inside before collecting the tie off of the floor, “What about your shirt and tie?”

“Basket,” he pointed in a similar fashion at the laundry basket standing next to the wardrobe before tossing Greg the suit pants. Once everything was put where it needed to be he helped Mycroft get into bed- using every morsel of self-restraint to not check out Mycroft’s body- before heading into what turned out to be his en-suite, fixing him a glass of water and going into the medicine cabinet and popping out two paracetamol from the packet.

He returned to the bedroom, “Here’s some water and painkillers for the morning, do you need any alarms set to get up tomorrow?”

“No, they’re preset,” Mycroft replied drowsily, his eyes already closed.

“Alright, I’ll give you a text in the mornin’ to see how you are, alright?”

“Alright,” Mycroft settled into the bed, “Thank you, Greg.”

“You’re welcome, Mycroft. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

“Until then, Gregory.”

“Until then, Mycroft. Night.” He walked over to the door and turned to look at Mycroft a final time before flicking the light off and closing the door before heading out to the driver to take him home.


	12. Alone With You

“ _I don't see you laugh,_  
_You don't call me back,_  
 _But you kiss me when you're drunk,_ ” – Jake Owen

* * *

Greg sat in his office after getting his early morning jobs done, sipping at his coffee and reading the news. He had woken up with a minor headache, but a strong coffee and some painkillers had rid him of it before he arrived at the Yard. His phone sat beside him and after glancing at it multiple times whilst mulling over whether or not he should text his soulmate, he finally gave in and opened the message thread.

**To: Mycroft  
** ‘How are you feeling?’

He returned to the article he was reading about the latest goings on in Syria and continued to look through the rest of the latest stories before he realised he had not yet received a reply. He busied himself with other tasks that needed doing for another hour before he sent another text.

**To: Mycroft  
** ‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, we all go a little crazy after one too many drinks. Just let me know you’re OK?’

He returned to working through his e-mails before receiving a reply a few minutes later. 

**From: Mycroft**  
‘I now realise why I have not drank that much in so long. Not only do I feel awful but I made a complete fool of myself.  
However, thank you for not letting me make more of a fool of myself than I actually did.  
MH’

Greg smiled as he tapped out a reply. 

**To: Mycroft**  
‘Are the painkillers not working? Keep drinking water, it’ll help :) as for making a fool out of yourself, you didn’t, it was endearing to see you like that.  
No problem, I told you Sober You would thank me for stopping things there :P’  
  
He didn’t have to wait long for a reply. 

**From: Mycroft**  
‘The paracetamol lessened the pain but has not fully eradicated it, but I am drinking water. I have taken two more, hopefully they will help.  
The fact you found it ‘endearing’ is embarrassing enough, never mind the reasons as to why.  
Savour this moment, Gregory, it is far from a regular occurrence for you to be right with me.  
MH’

He chuckled to himself as read the message before tapping out a reply. 

**To: Mycroft**  
‘Distract yourself, if you’re not thinking about the headache you won’t feel it as much :)  
There are times when you’re sober that I find you endearing, you can’t be embarrassed about those too :P  
I am savouring it, basking in the glory of being right to not only you but to a HOLMES!’

He returned his attention to his e-mails, deleting the unimportant ones he had failed to get rid of at the time and archiving the ones he wanted to keep a hold of in the folder they were best suited for. When he was close to the end of organising his inbox his phone buzzed and he leant back in his seat, picking it up and swiping it unlocked. 

**From: Mycroft**  
‘Unfortunately, I only have paperwork to read over at the moment so distraction will be difficult to come by.  
I worry about your mental stability, Gregory; I am not someone one would consider ‘endearing’ in any way.  
Yes, organising your e-mail inbox looks very much like “basking in the glory”…  
MH’

Greg looked up to the security camera in the corner of his office before sticking his tongue out then grinning at the lens.

“Er, Sir… what are you doing?” He snapped his head to the door to find Donovan standing in the doorway, her eyebrows arched and a thorough mix of confusion and worry gracing her features.

“Mycroft is spying on me through that security camera,” he stated, chuckling softly as he typed out a text. 

**To: Mycroft**  
‘Can’t you fob it off to your assistant or do it from home?  
I worry about my mental stability too, but then I remember it’s more fun than being normal :P  
I hope you appreciated that, Donovan caught me :P’

“So things are better between you two?” she asked, leaning against the door.

“You could say that,” he sent her a smirk as he got up. “I need another coffee, come with me.”

“I was heading for another too,” she replied, pushing herself upright before stepping out of the office and walking with him. “So come on, what’s happened?”

“Not a word to anyone, alright?”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know, but this time it has to stay more under wraps than anythin’ before.” He paused as they entered the break room. “But basically, there’s definitely something there on his end.”

“How do you know?”

“So you know we went out last night?”

“Yeah, to the pub quiz, right? How did it go?”

He grabbed a cup and set it under the nozzle of the coffee machine. “He liked the beers and we are the first team to ever get a perfect score.”

“Shut up, no way! That quiz is stupidly hard.”

“But remember, I had Mycroft Holmes on my team,” he countered, pressing the button to pour a flat white into the waiting cup.

“True, those two have weird amounts of intelligence. So what happened?”

“Well, when I say he liked the beers, he _really_ liked the beers. He had six pints, I had seven. And it turns out he has a lower tolerance than I thought.”

“So you’re tellin’ me you got him pissed?” she questioned incredulously.

“I didn’t mean to! I thought he would be used to stronger stuff than fancy craft beers!” he cried, picking up his now-filled coffee cup and moving to where the sugar sachets sat. “So we’re leavin’ the pub and the air hit him and he realised he was drunk, but I thought he was just a bit tipsy, borderline drunk, ya know? Like I was. So I asked him if he was alright and he said he was and we walked away from the entrance ‘coz his car was gonna be there soon and he just turned and… kissed me.”

Sally covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide, “Are you serious?! Mycroft kissed you?!”

“Alright, keep it down! This is private!” he hissed and she stayed silent. He continued emptying the sachets of sugar as he spoke, “Yes, he kissed me, then the car arrived and we got in and we carried on and then the car turned and he nearly lost his balance but I caught him before he fell, then I asked him how drunk he was and he kept sayin’ he was fine but I could tell he wasn’t because A, he contracted his words which he rarely does and B, he called me Greg which he _never_ does.”

“Jeez, he must have been pissed.”

“Yeah, so he ended up putting his head on my shoulder and my arm was around him for the rest of the journey home then I helped him get into bed and he was askin’ me to stay and I said he’d have to buy me dinner first then when he was in bed I left.”

“Oh my God, Sir!” she cried, her grin wide. “What’s he like today?”

“He’s got a headache and he’s embarrassed, but otherwise he’s fine.”

“So do you think you’ve done it? Like, do you think he’s realised you two should just be together?”

“No, I think he’s still reluctant, but it proves he is attracted to me and there is somethin’ there on his side, all I have to do is figure out what’s holdin’ him back,” he grinned, picking up his coffee and taking a sip.

Donovan moved to add sugar to her latte, “Do you have a plan of how you’ll do that?”

“Not yet, but anything I do plan will just be addin’ on to the plans I’ve already made. Probably just ramp up the contact, physical and communication.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Sally replied, stepping away from the table with her coffee in hand. They walked back to Greg’s office and Donovan bade him goodbye for the time being, leaving Greg to head into his office alone, sitting back in his chair and picking up his phone with his free hand to find he had received a message whilst he was away. 

**From: Mycroft**  
‘Unfortunately, these documents require my personal attention, and I have a meeting at noon that I need to attend.  
I worry about you sometimes, Gregory.  
I saw she did, I laughed.  
MH’

He checked the time and saw it was past twelve, meaning Mycroft would be too busy to reply. Nonetheless, he quickly replied. 

**To: Mycroft**  
‘Damn it :( nearly there, you’ve got through the worst of the day.  
Good, someone needs to :P  
I’m glad you found it amusing.  
Hope your meeting goes well x’

With the message sent he found some little jobs to do as he drank his coffee, then once finished he decided to go for lunch.


	13. See You Tonight

**AN:** I am so so sorry that it has been so long since I updated! Final year has been killing me and I've had a bunch of other personal stuff going on. This is the last of the chapters that I had pre-written but once I have my dissertation and coursework and exam out of the way I will be back on this! I love this 'verse too much to let it be (and the boys need to get together, right? ;)) Anyways, sorry again and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

“ _So I'm coming over, I hope it's alright,_  
_Listen for me pulling into your drive,_  
 _Look out your window, you'll see my lights,_  
 _Baby girl, I gotta see you tonight,_ ” – Scott McCreery 

After a day of running errands, Greg was making up a lasagne with plans of a few beers and whatever rubbish Saturday night television provided. Despite sending a couple of texts per day, the silver-haired man had heard nothing from Mycroft, causing him to wonder what had changed since their interactions the day after their date. He was considering what he would say in his latest text; he usually started with a 'good morning' text with a quick statement of what he had planned for the day and the evening text usually covered what he had done and saying he hoped the government official had had a good day.

Just as he was sprinkling the cheese over the lasagne his phone began to ring in his jeans pocket, so once his hands were empty he pulled the phone out to find the caller was Mycroft.

"Hey, everythin' OK?" he asked.

"It will be once I have had a shower, shave and have found somewhere to get a decent meal."

"Jesus, where have you been?"

"Out of the country; I had urgent work matters to attend to. I was calling to apologise for not responding; I have been unable to get reception on my personal phone until I arrived about an hour ago." 

"Ahh, that's fair," he paused and looked over to his uncooked lasagne, "I can't help you with the shower and the shave, but I've got lasagne and a bottle of wine. I can set off in the next five minutes, I just need to find out the route to yours. I remember the street name, unless you want to make my life easier and send me the postcode?"

"I would try and stop you if I wasn't so tired and you did not sound so adamant. I will send you a link which will show the whereabouts of my house- you can open it in Google Maps- but afterwards you will need to delete it from your history; we can't have that kind of information getting into the wrong hands."

Greg turned off the oven. "Great, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Until then, Gregory."

Greg failed to keep the smile off his face as he replied, "Until then, Mycroft." The call ended and he got out some tin foil to put over the lasagne before putting the wine bottle in a plastic bag. Whilst doing this, his phone dinged and he opened the message to find the promised link, which he opened. He then looked down, taking in his ratty, blue-grey t-shirt and jeans before darting to his room and changing into a dark grey, V-necked jumper, throwing a jacket over the top. Passing through the living room on his way to the kitchen, his eye caught something which he immediately darted to, collecting what he needed before returning en-route to the kitchen and after making sure he had everything, he picked up his phone, opened the web page in Maps and made his way down to his car, locking up the flat as he left. 

Once in the car he started the app, following the directions out of the heart of London, heading deeper into the suburbs then into the area with stately homes more fitting to where he imagined the elder Holmes would live.

When his phone informed him he had arrived at his destination, he looked up at the house he had helped a drunk Mycroft into earlier that week before pulling into the driveway. Killing the engine, he undid his seatbelt before opening the door, picking up the lasagne and plastic bag sitting in the passenger seat and getting out of the car. After making sure it was locked he headed to the door and pressed the doorbell, stepping back.

Mycroft opened the door after a few seconds wearing a black dressing gown with a white t-shirt showing underneath and blue and white striped pyjama bottoms, his hair still damp from his shower. Upon seeing Greg, Mycroft smiled softly. "Good evening, Gregory."

"Hey," Greg smiled back shyly, "do you feel better?"

"Much; I feel human again," he answered. "Would you like to come in?"

"Please." He entered the house as Mycroft stepped aside, taking time to look around the simply yet elegantly decorated hallway he had been unable to appreciate the last time he had been there.

"The kitchen is this way." Mycroft walked ahead of him, leading him to the open door at the end of the corridor and into the large kitchen with dark wood cupboards and granite counters lining the back and side walls, hi-tech appliances and a breakfast bar in the middle of the room with dark, wooden stools.

"Wow," Greg enunciated, his jaw a little slack as he took it all in. "The fun I would have if I had a kitchen like this."

"I can imagine, with your culinary skill," Mycroft replied, walking over to one of the cupboards and pulling out a wine decanter. "What temperature does the oven need to be set to?"

"Two hundred degrees will do it," Greg answered, collecting the decanter from Mycroft- purposely letting their fingers brush- before putting it and the bottle of red on the island. "Do you have a corkscrew?"

"Naturally." After turning the oven on Mycroft opened one of the drawers and extracted a bottle opener before bringing it to Greg. The silver-haired man made light work of opening the bottle before carefully pouring it into the decanter.

"I brought you something, by the way," Greg said, going into the bag which had held the wine and extracting _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_. "Maybe you could take it next time you go out of the country?"

Mycroft took the book from him, studying the cover, "Perhaps I will," he stated thoughtfully, turning the book over to read the blurb. He then turned his attention to Greg. "How has your day been?"

"Good, I did some shopping, ran a few errands, got this done," he gestured to the lasagne sitting on the breakfast bar. "What about you?"

"I finished what was necessary overseas then flew back. Travelling tires me more than anything else I do."

"Yeah, travelling kills me too." Greg looked over to the oven to see the light was off. "Is it up to temperature?"

Mycroft looked also. "Yes, it is."

Greg took the foil off before carrying it to the oven, setting it down on the counter to open the door before putting it in and shutting it, quickly figuring out the timer on it before setting it to twenty minutes, "It'll need another ten under the grill to crisp the top up nicely." He quickly turned the grill on before turning back to Mycroft. "Shall we move to somewhere more comfortable until then?"

"That sounds like a marvellous idea," Mycroft answered, a grateful smile forming on his lips and he led Greg from the kitchen, through the small yet grand dining room and into the living room.

Like the other rooms Greg had seen, it was light in colour but instead had dark furniture, the taupe, leather sofa between two matching armchairs with a coffee table in the middle and a large television in the corner.

Mycroft sat on the sofa and Greg joined him. “So, is there anything you can tell me about your trip, what you were doin’, for example?”

“It was a simple case of mediation and translation, nothing that is new to me.”

“How many languages can you speak?”

"Multiple, there are too many to say."

"Try me."

"Apart from the obvious English, I speak Welsh, Gaelic, French, Spanish, Portuguese, German, Russian, Polish, Afrikaans, Latin, Greek, Chinese- Mandarin and Cantonese- Swedish, Finnish, Norwegian-"

"Jesus, _how_??" Greg exclaimed, his eyebrows raised.

"A number of languages have words which stem from other languages, it makes them easier to pick up," he answered nonchalantly.

"Like what?" He leant closer to Mycroft.

"Take English for example," he leant back in his seat, "English is a West Germanic language that originated from Anglo-Frisian dialects brought to Britain in the fifth to seventh centuries AD by Germanic invaders and settlers from what is now known as northwest Germany, west Denmark and the Netherlands. Over the years, we have loaned words from French, Latin, Ancient Greek, German and Dutch from various invasions and social movements over the years. With all those roots, it makes it easier to pick up on those languages and then once those languages are mastered they are rooted in other languages, and so on."

"I knew we had roots in French, Latin and Greek, but I wasn't aware of the Germanic roots. But now you say that, it makes sense," Greg said, leaning back and crossing his legs. _I never realised how sexy intelligence was,_ Greg thought, _But then again, it is_ Mycroft's _level of intelligence._ "How long does it usually take for you to learn a new language?" _  
_

"A few hours if its roots are in a language I already know, less than a day if it does not."

"That shouldn't surprise me as much as it does."

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Mycroft, it's _you_. You're the most intelligent man in the UK, if not Europe, if not the _world_. Of course you can learn a language in less than a day."

A barely-there blush tinted Mycroft's cheeks and he cleared his throat as he checked his watch. "Fifteen minutes until you need to move it to the grill."

"Yeah, we've got a while," Greg smiled, "What's your favourite holiday?"

"Guy Fawkes' Night or New Year's Eve, simply for the firework displays, however the former has more historical context which I enjoy. And you?"

"Christmas; everythin' feels a bit more magical, ya know?" Greg answered and Mycroft hummed in response, "It's more fun with my niece and nephew too, they're six and eight so they still believe in Father Christmas which makes everything more fun."

"You have a niece and nephew?"

"Yeah, I'm surprised you didn't know that."

"I did a background check on you, not your family."

"Fair enough. But yeah, they're my sister's kids, Allysandra- but we just call her Ally- and Jayden. I love them to bits,” Greg smiled as he thought of his younger relatives, “Do you have any children in your family?”

“A few, two of my cousins have children, however it is difficult to see them as they live in the Midlands and our relationship is not very close. They do not share mine and Sherlock’s intelligence.”

“That’s no surprise. Was there anyone you were close to growin’ up?”

“Not really; Sherlock completely idolised me when he was younger and we played together a lot during that time, but that soon became disdain not long after I started my first degree; I had grown out of the games he wanted to play, and Redbeard was put down around the same time. It was after that he became more like the Sherlock you knew when you first met him, without the drugs of course, but I digress.”

“What about your parents or anyone older?”

“I would converse with them about certain things, yet it was not the same as having someone who was ages with me to discuss such things. I have no regrets, however; it prepared me for the life I would lead in adulthood. Solitude has been incredibly helpful in my career.”

"I'm sure it has, but it still doesn't make it fair you've never really had someone to be close with," Greg replied softly.

"Life is not fair, Gregory; but like I said, it has worked out in my favour."

"I know is isn't, but I still wish you'd had someone. You could have had a friend and solitude at the same time."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Gregory, however I could never maintain a friend as a child; not only did I skip several years of school but I was also not the most personable child, I was a lot less tolerable of my peers’ lesser intelligence than I am now. But let’s not dwell on the past.”

“Alright, what would you say is your guilty pleasure?”

There was a long pause as Mycroft considered his answer, his eyes downcast. “I would have to say John’s blog is the closest thing I have to a guilty pleasure; I like to know what my brother gets up to.”

“Surely you could do that with the case files and CCTV?”

Mycroft met Greg’s eyes again. “I could, however John’s recollection of events offers more insight and are rather entertaining, despite the fact he romanticises elements.”

“Fair enough.”

“And yours?

“I have two: _Strictly Come Dancing_ and ABBA.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “I never saw you as a fan of ballroom and Latin dancing.”

“My ex loved the show, and she got me into it. It’s the skill the professionals have and that the celebrities learn, I’d love to have a go myself but I can never commit to regular classes.”

“I can empathise with the feeling,” Mycroft checked his watch, “The lasagne should be ready to go under the grill.”

“Brilliant. Stay here, I’ll sort it.” Greg got up and made his way to the kitchen, returning minutes later. “Ten minutes then we can dish up.”

“Excellent,” Mycroft sent Greg a soft smile, “Thank you, Gregory, for doing this. You had no obligation to come here.”

“It’s my pleasure; what kind of idiot would I be to miss out on time spent with you?”

Mycroft picked at the sleeve of his dressing gown, his eyes focussed on pulling the pills off the fabric and he cleared his throat, looking up at Greg again. “If you were stuck in an elevator, who would be the worst person to be in there with you?”

“That’s easy; Donald Trump.”

Mycroft huffed a short, soft laugh at the other man’s speed of answering, “I can understand why. And the best?”

“Do you really have to ask me that?” Greg sent a knowing look to the other man.

“You’re being a lot more forward than you usually are, Gregory.”

“You keep throwin’ the ball, I’m gonna keep hittin’ it,” he sent an easy grin to Mycroft. “What about you? Who would be the best and worst person to be trapped in a lift with?”

“I am not at liberty to say who the worst person would be, and there is no-one I would explicitly wish to be stuck in an elevator with.”

“Boring,” Greg’s tone was teasing. “Alright, what kind of music do you listen to when you exercise?”

“I usually tend to do my workout in silence; it allows me to focus a lot more than if I had any distractions.”

“Fair enough,” Greg replied, sending his soulmate a smile. The conversation lulled and Greg took the time to look around the room, noting the small collection of DVDs organised into alphabetical order by the TV. In the TV stand he could see the latest Sky box and a DVD player stacked on top of one another. “Do you record anything?”

“Sorry?”

“On your Sky box, do you record anything?”

“Mostly documentaries that I would like to watch, the memory is almost always full due to my lack of free time, but when I do get the time and the urge I will watch as many as I can.”

“Fair enough,” Greg sent the redhead another smile before returning to looking around the room, noting the radio on a table near the radio and the small bookshelf sitting near to it.

Mycroft’s voice cut through Greg’s observations of the living room “The lasagne should be ready.”

“OK, where d’you wanna eat?”

“Shall we have it in the dining room?”

“OK, cool.” The pair stood up. “You get the wine and I’ll serve up?”

“Of course.”

The two headed into the kitchen and within minutes the pair were sat across from one another, steaming servings of lasagne sat before them with a glass of red wine beside their plates and the decanter between them.

Mycroft swallowed his first bite. “This is wonderful, Gregory.”

The DI bristled with delight. “Thanks, Mycroft.”

A comfortable silence fell over the pair as they ate, the two sharing glances occasionally but otherwise focussing on their meal. Once the plates were empty Greg leant back, smiling in satisfaction.

“I’m pretty happy with that, if I do say so myself,” Greg said.

“As you should, it was a very good lasagne. Possibly one of the best I have ever had.”

“Wow, that’s very high praise, Mr Holmes.” The DI stood and took the plates before heading into the kitchen. He was soon joined by Mycroft, holding their glasses of wine. “I hate to dine and dash, but I feel like you’ll want to unwind alone and maybe even go to bed. You can have the rest of the lasagne, just gimme back the dish whenever you can.” He took the glass of wine held out to him and drained the last dregs before setting it by the sink. “Thank you for making my Saturday night a bit more fun, Mycroft; as always, I’ve enjoyed your company.”

The two began to walk towards the door. “Thank you again for coming over and providing me with dinner. But before you go, allow me to get something for you.” Mycroft quickly ducked into one of the rooms off the corridor and Greg headed to the door to put his jacket on. Moments later, Mycroft returned holding a book. “Since you have been kind enough to lend me one of your books, allow me to lend you one of mine.” Greg took it from him and studied the cover.

“ _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , thanks Mycroft; I’ll make a start on it when I get home.”

Mycroft sent him a soft smile. “We will be in contact soon, no doubt.”

“You know it,” Greg winked, a cheeky grin on his face as he opened the door.

“Until then, Gregory.”

“Until then, Mycroft,” he replied before stepping out of the house, shutting the door behind him before heading to his car.


	14. Leave the Night On

**AN:**  I'm back! I'm so sorry it took so long to do this, last year was rough for me and then my plot bunny went into some serious hibernation but last night I finally managed to gather the motivation to wake it up and do this! I'm hoping to be a bit better with posting but I feel like to accommodate life right now, the sooner may come closer than I originally planned. And I say that now, but I still have the ideas of all the future chapters should I choose to carry on after the point I am going to end this on. But anyways, enough about me, I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

" _We'll find a road with no name, lay back in the slow lane,_  
 _The sky is dropping Jupiter around us like some old train,_  
 _We'll be rolling down the windows, I bet you we're catchin' our second wind,_  
 _We don't have to go home, we can leave the night on_  
 _We can leave the night on._ " – Sam Hunt

* * *

Greg was cruising down the motorway, the radio playing classic rock and- even better- Mycroft was beside him.

"How far are we from our destination?" Mycroft asked.

"That would be tellin', but we're not far off now." Greg flashed his soulmate a grin before turning his attention back to the road.

They soon pulled into an industrial estate and Greg killed the engine, quickly exiting the car as Mycroft joined him, "Gregory, what  _are_  we doing?"

Greg turned to face him, a wicked grin brightening his face, "Have you ever played laser tag?"

The auburn-haired man groaned, "Really? Are we ten?"

"Nope, but just because we're older doesn't make it less fun. Come on then, Myc!" He had a spring in his step as he walked.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, sending the overly-chipper man a pointed look, "Myc?"

Greg looked back, still grinning. "You call me Gregory and not even my  _Mum_  calls me that, so I'm gonna call you Myc. Now come on, our game starts in fifteen minutes and we need to sit through the briefing."

Mycroft soon caught up. "I think I know how the game works, despite never doing it previously."

"They make you do it; health and safety."

"Even if you have had extensive training with  _real_  guns?"

"Yep, they made everyone on the force listen to it when we came in on a team building day." Greg opened the door, bowing and sweeping his arm across his body before looking up. "After you."

Mycroft huffed a short laugh and entered the building and Greg followed, the two heading to the desk where Greg told the guy waiting who they were. Once checked in, they were shown to the changing room where several vests were hung up and a few other people were waiting, both children and adults.

The talk was brief, going over how the game worked and the general health and safety side of it, but soon they had their vests on, plastic guns in hand and the door to the arena was opened.

"One minute to get into position then the time will begin." And with that, they headed into the room and the door shut.

The two looked at each other for a moment before Greg turned, quickly scoping out the darkened, two-storey arena.  _Now knowing Mycroft, he'll take the top level for a better view, but down here will provide more hiding spots,_  he thought,  _and the open points at the top will give me the chance to shoot him and anyone else that is running past._ He darted to the blockade under the ramp and crouched down, scoping out the surrounding area. The few children were giddily running around, desperate to find a good hiding spot and just as all had quietened, the klaxon sounded followed by loud music playing through the speakers.

A few left their spots, running around and Greg took the opportunity to shoot at them, their vests lighting up before he broke from his hiding place,  _I'm not going to find him staying here_ , he thought. He scoped out the upper level, his gun nestled by his right arm with his left hand holding the barrel and the index finger of his right hovering over the trigger. He strained through the darkened room, only coloured lights giving him any form of visibility when his vest sounded, ' _Hit._ ' He cursed and whipped around, his eyes darting as he tried to find who had shot him to find a young boy with his friends laughing and watching him. Greg sent the boy a wicked grin and strode over, calling, "I'm going to get you!" in a sing-song voice and they screamed and ran, not bothering to fire another shot at him in favour of gaining distance between them and him. His vest then said, ' _Recovered_ ' and he scoped the area, shooting at anyone he saw before hiding behind one of the many barriers, looking around him to figure out his next move. He looked up the ramp and saw the crouched figure of his date, slowly making his way down to the ground level. For a moment Greg admired how the blue light made the auburn tint appear purple and wondered if Mycroft had gone through a punk phase in his youth, conjuring up piercings and a plethora of tattoos hidden under his expensive suits…

He snapped himself out of it; he needed to focus. From his position, Greg could see Mycroft but the younger man had not spotted him yet, so he slowly took aim and fired. Within moments ice blue eyes met his, glinting in the unnatural light. Mycroft quickly made his way down the ramp causing Greg to break into a run, weaving at random moments in hopes that Mycroft wouldn't hit him. As he ran, he fired at anyone he saw, making his way to the ramp on the other side of the arena and running up. Half-way from the upper level his jacket sounded, ' _Hit_ ' and he turned to Mycroft with a playful scowl before he jogged the few steps down to where the redhead stood. With their bodies inches apart as he stepped around him Greg leaned in, his lips ghosting the other man's ear as he said, "You're gonna regret that," before pulling away and flashing a wicked grin. Leaving Mycroft blinking on the ramp, the DI reached the bottom as his vest said, ' _Recovered_ ' and he began shooting at everyone he could find, sending a shot up the ramp with hopes he would just catch the government official who was returning to the top.

The battle raged on, Greg hitting more people than he was hit himself and occasionally bumping into Mycroft, especially when he decided to venture up to the upper level of the arena. The silver-haired man was under fire from the same group of children that had hit him earlier- but this time with their parents- when the klaxon blared and the music faded out, leaving them all to head back into the changing room. The pair quickly found one another and removed their vests, hanging them and the attached guns on the hooks before heading back through to the entrance where they would receive their final scores. As they passed, they were given a slip of paper which they only stopped to look at after thanking the staff and leaving the building.

"This has  _got_  to be wrong," Greg stared at the paper with a dumbfounded expression, "I beat  _everyone?!_ "

Mycroft too was paying the slip of paper his full attention. "How on Earth did I get beaten by a  _child_?!"

The DI looked up with a cheeky grin, "Looks like me and 'Stacie-Lou' are going to be poached by MI5 in the near-future."

"She was probably one of the children who kept their finger constantly on the trigger; it would be highly irresponsible to hire such a person. You, Gregory, however," the auburn-haired man threw him a glance, "did New Scotland Yard proud."

Greg flushed slightly, ducking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck, "Thanks Mycroft," he said, meeting ice blue eyes for a moment. He allowed his hand to fall beside him again as he straightened up. "Shall we go and get some food?"

"That sounds like a marvellous idea," Mycroft responded and the pair made their way to the car, getting in on their separate sides before Greg turned the key and began to navigate to their next destination.

It wasn't long until they pulled up in the car-park on the side of the road, the red-brick, boxy building looking obscure compared to the scenery around it, loudly advertising its American cuisine with garish neon lights.

"Here we are," Greg announced, killing the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. "I know this isn't your usual kind of place, but the burgers here are amazing."

Mycroft wrinkled his nose slightly as he mimicked the DI, "You are right in thinking this is the kind of establishment I do not frequent; burgers are not something included in my diet."

"You haven't tried these ones. One burger won't kill you." They left the car and Greg locked it, leading the younger man to the entrance.

Old music playing from the jukebox added to the quiet buzz of the diner and the pair quickly found a corner booth, sliding in either side yet sitting close to each other.

Mycroft looked around and mused, "There is certainly a lot of character in here."

Greg mimicked, "Yeah, it's open pretty late too. Me and Sally found it on our way back from wrapping up a case and we were starvin', so we checked to see if they were still open and they were. We come in when we can, the staff know us well enough."

"I see," he nodded slowly, his eyes still trailing around the restaurant, his eyes squinting slightly at the neon signs dotted around and focussing when they found an old, black and white image.

As the silence began to settle between the two, a young woman scuttled over, two menus in hand. "Hi Greg! Haven't seen you in a while," she grinned as she handed the menus over to the pair.

"Hey Lucy. Yeah, we haven't had much chance to get down here of late; it's been pretty busy," the grey-haired man responded with a similar easy smile as he flipped open his menu.

"Can I get you any drinks at all?"

"A water for me, please," Mycroft stated, looking up to the waitress with a polite smile.

"One water, and a banana milkshake for you, Greg?"

"You know me well," he replied fondly.

"Awesome, I'll get them to you in a minute. Give me a shout if you need anything."

"Will do, thanks Lucy." He flashed her another grin before the girl scurried off behind the counter.

"A banana milkshake?" Mycroft questioned, one eyebrow raised.

"Banana milkshakes are my favourite, and the ones they do here are amazing."

A spark of amusement flashed briefly in the redhead's eyes, "Alright then."

"OK, what milkshake do you prefer?"

"I do not drink milkshakes, Gregory."

"Ever?"

"No; I am not thirteen."

"Don't say that; milkshakes are for everyone and they're amazing."

"Whatever you say, Gregory."

"I'll bring you around to the idea." He sent his soulmate a fond look before finally looking over the menu. "I think I'll go for my usual."

"And what is that?"

"Double bacon cheeseburger with fries," Greg answered with a grin, to which Mycroft pulled a face.

"I can only imagine what that meal will do to your arteries…" he drawled.

"Yeah, I know, but it tastes amazing. Do you have an idea of what you would like?"

"I think I will just have a plain hamburger."

"No fries?"

"Not for me. If I want any, I can always steal from you," at this, Mycroft smirked at the older man.

Greg glared playfully, "Oh, so is that how it is?"

"That is how it is; I do not want a full portion, but I am sure I can manage one or two."

The silver-haired man continued to playfully glower at the man sat across from him. "It's a good thing it's you who wants to steal from me; I don't usually share."

"Well then, I am flattered that I am worthy enough for you to consider letting me steal some of your food."

"Here you go!" Lucy sing-songed, setting down a tall glass of water and a large banana milkshake in front of the rightful owner. "Have you decided what you would like to eat?"

"Yeah, please can I have the double bacon cheeseburger with fries?"

"You certainly can," Lucy quickly wrote it down before turning to Mycroft, "And what can I get for you?"

"A plain hamburger, please."

"Of course." She scribbled on her pad. "If there's anything I can get you both, give me a shout."

"Actually, Lucy, please could you get us a small chocolate cake shake?" At this, Greg sent a sly grin to the man sitting across from him, causing the government official to raise a questioning eyebrow. "Just bring it over when it's ready."

"Of course I can, I'll bring it over in a minute and your food should be ready shortly." And with that, the waitress turned and headed back to the counter.

"Why did you order another milkshake when you have a perfectly good one in front of you?"

"Because the chocolate cake shake isn't  _for_  me; it's for you."

"Gregory, I told you I do not drink milkshakes."

"Try this one, and if you still think that afterwards then I will never make a comment about you not drinking them ever again, Scout's honour." He held his hand up in a Scout salute as a means of solidifying his promise.

"I was unaware you used to be a Scout."

"Oh yeah, right up until I went to uni," the DI picked up his milkshake and leaned back in the cushioned seat, sucking on the straw whilst holding the other man's gaze. "What about you? Any extra-curricular activities as a child?"

"Not really; I was more interested in my academics. I played chess with Sherlock when he was old enough to understand how to play the game and we were both home for the holidays, but I always won."

"Hang on, which university did you go to?"

"The University of Exeter. We lived outside of the city- the outskirts of Chittlehampton, to be exact, my parents still live there now- and Mother wanted me to be nearby should anything happen, but it made more sense for me to live closer to the university so I did not have to regularly endure such a lengthy commute which was difficult, given the lack of public transportation to the university and my parents' busy work schedules."

"Were you in Halls?" Greg attempted to hide his shock, but his tone and the straightening of his back to sit more upright hinted at his incredulousness.

"Oh no, no; both the university and my parents would not allow that. No, I stayed with a host family, a lecturer from the History department and her husband."

"Ahh, that makes sense," he relaxed again, taking another sip of his milkshake. "What were your degrees in?"

"First, I read Politics before moving on to International Relations, then took them both into Masters and specialised in International Law and Governance for my doctorate relating to what I had learnt through my International Relations Masters, and Critical Global Politics for my doctorate relating to my Politics Masters."

Greg blinked before coming to himself and chuckling, "That is incredibly impressive, and makes total sense, given your job."

"Yes, they came in quite handy in that respect."

"Here we go," Lucy set down a glass of thick, dark milkshake with her usual grin. "Your food will be out in a minute."

"Thanks Lucy, you're the best," Greg looked up at her with another fond grin.

Her grin widened and she flicked her ponytail, "I try!" Then with a laugh, she walked over to another booth.

"Now," the silver-haired man slid the glass over to his soulmate, "try it."

Mycroft sighed and picked the glass up, guiding the large straw to his lips once close enough before beginning to suck. The milkshake was thick, and even with the accommodating straw, it was only halfway when the redhead pulled it away after a few attempts to draw it up. "Is it meant to be like this?"

"Yes, now keep going; it's worth it," the older man cracked a grin as he watched his soulmate send him a disbelieving look before returning to sucking the thick concoction up the straw.

The moment the milkshake hit the top of the straw, ice blue eyes widened and lit up before returning to their usual mask of indifference as he set the glass down. "I see why you like it."

"It's good, right?" Greg beamed as the other man picked up the glass for another sip. "They put an entire slice of chocolate cake into a blender with some ice cream. That's why it's so thick."

The redhead set the glass down again, "I'm going to have to do two workouts tomorrow to make up for this…"

"Myc, come on, you have nothing to worry about. And surely you burned some energy earlier."

"Not enough, I feel," the government official sighed.

"OK, here we have a double bacon cheeseburger with fries," the waitress set a large plate in front of Greg, "and a plain hamburger," she then set down Mycroft's smaller plate, "Is there anything else I can get for you both?"

"Please could I have another glass of water, Lucy?" Mycroft looked up at the blonde waitress with a small smile.

"Of course you can, anything else for you, Greg?" She looked over at the older man.

"Na, I'm good thanks," he replied with an easy tone.

"Alright, I'll be back with your water in a sec!" She sent a grin to the pair as she collected Mycroft's finished glass of water before leaving the pair.

As they ate, they kept the conversation light between bites. Mycroft ended up having half of Greg's chips but the DI didn't complain, but playfully glowered with a smirk tugging at his lips each time his soulmate reached for a few more. Lucy collected their empty plates soon after they had finished and the two continued to chat until their drinks were finished and Greg had asked for the bill.

Once it arrived, Mycroft reached for it but the older man stopped him, "No chance, Myc; I've got this."

"Fine," the government official sighed mock-exasperatedly, a small smile tugging at his lips, "At least allow me to leave a tip for Lucy."

"I'll accept that," Greg replied, pulling a couple of notes from his wallet and setting them down.

"Shall we go?"

"Yeah, sure." The silver-haired man shuffled out of the booth, collecting the money once he was upright before heading over to the waitress, Mycroft a few steps behind putting away his wallet. "Here you go, Lucy, keep the change,"

"Aww, thanks Greg. Did you and your friend have a good meal?" the blonde asked, flashing the two one of her now-familiar smiles.

"We did, and that is why I would like to give you this," Mycroft stepped around next to Greg and handed her another forty pounds, "I have eaten at a number of high-end establishments, and your service rivalled, if not surpassed them."

Lucy looked at the money in her hand and Mycroft, gaping slightly. "Wow, um, thank you. That's so kind of you, but I can't, I can't take this, I'm just doing my job-"

"I insist," Mycroft sent the young woman one of his rare small smiles, "Have a good day, Lucy." He then turned and headed to the exit.

Greg immediately began to follow. "See you later, Lucy!"

"Bye gents! Have a good day!"

The DI caught up with his companion. "That was generous of you."

"As I just said moments ago, Gregory, her service was second to none."

"I know, she's always been amazing, but I didn't think you would do something like that."

"Why not?"

Greg unlocked the door and the two climbed in. "I dunno, I guess because people in positions like yours don't really do things like that."

The pair shut their respective doors. "Gregory, I understand there are people who believe those working in any service-related job such as waiting, cleaning, etcetera, are beneath them, but I am not one of them. I know the importance of those who work behind the scenes to ensure things run smoothly."

The silver-haired man started the car. "You're right, I'm sorry."

"It is quite alright."

"Music?"

"Alright."

The journey back to Mycroft's went by quickly with the two talking about whatever came to mind when Greg's attention to the road allowed for conversation, and they soon found themselves outside the government official's house.

"I have your copy of  _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_  inside, if you would like to come and collect it?"

Greg's stomach swooped but he held back showing the excitement in his expression, "Yeah, sure."

The pair got out of the car and Greg locked it before he followed the younger man to the door, waiting patiently until it was open and the alarm turned off before stepping inside.

"Allow me to collect it," the auburn-haired man quickly dipped into one of the rooms just off the hallway, soon reappearing with the book in hand, "Here you go." He stopped close to the DI, holding the book out to him.

Greg took it. "Thanks… So, today was nice."

"It was, thank you; I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would, if I am honest."

The silver-haired man glanced at Mycroft's soft, pink lips before meeting his eyes again, "Good, I'm glad."

The two fell silent and with a quick, momentary thought of,  _Fuck it_ , Greg leaned forward, his eyes closing before being met with heat radiating from his soulmate's face, which had dodged his advances. His stomach dropped and he felt himself begin to pull away, the apology rising from his throat when the lips he intended to press his own against touched his cheek, feather-soft and fleeting.

"I am sure you will be in touch soon," Mycroft murmured as he pulled away.

Greg opened his eyes and cleared his throat. "You know I will." He sent the other man a shy grin.

Mycroft led him to the door, opening it and standing aside. "Until then, Gregory."

"Until then, Mycroft." He sent the auburn-haired man a smile before exiting the house, making his way back to his car. Once he was sure the door was shut and he would not be seen by his soulmate, Greg punched the air and whispered, "Yes!" With a beaming grin on his face, he started the engine and pulled away from the kerb.


End file.
